


When the Chips are Down

by KikiJ, MostGeckcellent



Series: Once More With Feeling [1]
Category: Hadestown - Mitchell, Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Combeferre as Hades, Communication Failure, Courfeyrac as Persephone, Enjolras as Orpheus, Grantaire as Eurydice, Hadestown References, In which they put on a production of Hadestown and things hit a little close to home, M/M, Montreal, Musicals, Relationship Problems, Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29467296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KikiJ/pseuds/KikiJ, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostGeckcellent/pseuds/MostGeckcellent
Summary: Orpheus was a poor boy, who saw the world the way it could be in spite of the way that it is; and Eurydice was a young girl, but she’d seen how the world was.Enjolras and Grantaire’s relationship has been on the rocks for years when they are cast as Orpheus and Eurydice in a production of Hadestown, put on by their old friend Eponine. Will the show bring them back together - or will it drive them further apart?
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Once More With Feeling [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164425
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

Eponine stands at the back of the Mainline Theatre, and takes it in. She hasn’t been in Montreal in years - not since she graduated from the National Theatre School with a degree in theatre production, and ran off to New York to try for the big times. She isn’t returning empty-handed, either - she has a couple off-broadway credits under her belt, and some valuable lessons learned. 

“You gonna stare at the empty stage all day or what?” Gavroche pops up beside her, obnoxiously loveable as always. 

“Yeah, yeah. C’mon, kid.” She leaves the stage, and heads for the studio space in the back. She flips through her contact book. The back few pages have names, and numbers, and sentimental doodles and comments from the friends she had in college. She hasn’t been fantastic at keeping in contact - mostly, she’s just kept them on instagram and liked some of their photos intermittently. She hadn’t really expected to be back, but, well. She glances at Gavroche - he’s a good kid, and she hadn’t wanted to uproot him to drag him all the way to a different country in his senior year of high school. She curses her parents silently, and is just glad she managed to get custody, even if it means leaving New York. The Montreal theatre scene is pretty cool, anyway. 

She sends Gavroche off with the task of bringing some of the stuff from the car into the room she’ll be using as her office for the next year, and dials up a number she finds she still knows off by heart. “Hey,” she says when Enjolras answers. “I know you’re busy with that charity of yours, but you think you’ve got time for a gig?”

  
  


“Eponine is back in town,” Enjolras says to his husband as he hangs up the phone. 

“Oh yeah?” Grantaire looks up, intrigued. 

“She’s doing Hadestown, wants to know if we’re interested in getting everyone back together,” he says. 

“Hm.” Hadestown is enough to draw Grantaire in, of course, but he thinks about working with Enjolras so closely, and hesitates. 

“She wants you for Eurydice,” Enjolras continues. 

“Shit, really?” Grantaire raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, of course,” Enjolras says, like it should be obvious. 

“Who’s my Orpheus?”

“Me.” 

“...Oh.” Grantaire is back to hesitating. “What about Corinthe?”

Corinthe being, of course, Enjolras’ baby. His obsession. Properly named, it is the Corinthe Centre for Arts and Theatre. It is a non-profit, meant to bring the arts and theatre, especially, to underprivileged communities. There are programs for all age groups, and the ones that aren’t free offer bursaries, and it has taken up all of Enjolras’ time for years. Enjolras graduated as one of the most promising actors out of the National School, and he’s appeared in maybe two professional productions since, pouring everything into Corinthe instead. 

“She wants to feature some of the adult students in the company,” Enjolras says, excited. “It would be a fantastic opportunity to spotlight the organization, raise some funds and awareness.” 

“So you’ll do it?” Grantaire asks, dread rising in his stomach.

“If you will,” Enjolras says. 

Grantaire hasn’t had a big role in some time. He’d graduated with some good credits under his belt, and a minor in dance that has served him well, but he’s struggled to land a breakout role, and the longer he goes, the harder it gets. Eurydice would be huge for him, and fuck, but he loves Hadestown. 

“Sure,” he says, despite his many, many misgivings. He’ll fuck it up, one way or another, but he wants to give it a shot. 

  
  


“Ferre! You won’t believe this,” Courfeyrac is practically vibrating. Combeferre sets down his book and waits for Courfeyrac to continue. 

“Eponine is back in town,” Courfeyrac says, pacing the room - bouncing around the room, really. “She’s doing Hadestown.” 

“Really,” Combeferre raises an eyebrow. 

“She wants me to do Persephone, and you as Hades,” Courfeyrac announces. He’s beaming, ear to ear. Courfeyrac has turned out to actually be Montreal’s indie theatre darling. With his infectiously bubbly personality and endless charm, it’s no surprise. Combeferre has quietly been there with him most of the way, playing smaller roles, but neither of them struggle for work. 

“Say you’ll do it, Ferre,” Courfeyrac pleads. “We haven’t shared the stage in  _ ages _ , it’ll be so much fun.” 

Combeferre has a couple of options lined up, but the decision is an easy one. “Of course,” he agrees. “Tell Eponine she should stop by for coffee.” 

“Yes!” Courfeyrac does a fist pump in the air, and quickly redials Eponine’s number. 

  
  
  


Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are cast as the fates - Eponine knows they’ve always been flawlessly in sync with each other, and knows they can bring it to the stage. Harder to cast is Hermes - she needs an older actor to play Orpheus’ adopted father figure, so it can’t be any of her old college friends. In the end, she holds auditions, and when Montreal theatre veteran Jean Valjean applies, there can be no one else for the role. 

She holds auditions for the company, and meets many of Enjolras’ favourite students. They’re solid, and she feels good about her casting. Feuilly comes onto the team as her stage manager, and she knows Jehan will bring something appropriately bizarre to the costuming. Bahorel agrees to do the sound and lighting, and Cosette arrives with some up and coming jazz band in mind to play the role of music director. She says she’s taking a break from playing young ingenues in order to get some more back-stage experience.

Eponine’s binder of show notes and script edits and preparation is growing and growing with every week that passes, and before long, she has a show to rehearse. It’s time to get everyone to the theatre. 

  
  
  


The cast gathers, with Feuilly and Eponine at the head of the table, on a Thursday night. Feuilly hands out scripts, and Eponine observes everyone there. She hasn’t seen most of them in - god, she supposes it’s been eight years, now. She’d missed Enjolras and Grantaire’s wedding five years back, busy with a production that had ultimately flopped. It seems like, despite all being in the city, the rest of them have catching up to do anyway. The cheers that erupt every time someone new arrives are intoxicating, and Eponine feels herself grin, even as Musichetta slugs her in the arm for being gone so long. 

Eventually, they settle down. It’s not a real rehearsal, so some of them have drinks and snacks, and it feels almost like the activist club meetings they’d had back in school, in the campus pub’s back room. 

“I know not all of us particularly need introductions,” Eponine says, and Courfeyrac whoops. “But I’ll have us go around and say our roles anyway, so we can meet some of our new cast-mates, and then I’ll go over our rehearsal schedule and some of our other details. Feuilly, would you start?”

“Right. I’m Feuilly, I’m the stage manager,” he waves at the group. Bahorel wolf-whistles, and Feuilly rolls his eyes. “Uh, a little about me, I guess..” He talks a little about shows he’s done, says he hopes they’ll all get along, and sits down again. 

From there, they go around the table. Most of them are familiar faces, of course, but they all meet Valjean for the first time, as Hermes, and the small company, all from Enjolras’ classes at Corinthe. 

“Rehearsals start on Monday, I want everyone here and ready to do an initial sing-through,” Eponine announces. “Your schedules are included in your packets.” Everyone has a binder and several books, making up the script and the music as well as whatever additional documents people might need, including, of course, the schedule. “If there are any changes, I’ll let you all know. The last week of rehearsals are full days, and I’ve left them open so we can decide what needs the most time when we get there. You all know how tech week goes, I’m sure.” 

Bossuet groans dramatically, and there’s a smattering of laughter. 

“Right. Any questions?”

From there, the meeting ends, but the night certainly doesn’t. Some people go home, but most of the core cast and crew end up going out. They drink, they dance, they catch up. Eponine is in high demand, of course, as the one bringing them together and the one who’s been gone the longest. She’s missed them, she realizes halfway through her fourth drink, the newest Amir hit blasting from the bar’s speakers. And she’s missed Montreal. She’s glad to be back. 

  
  


Friday is for nursing hangovers and complaining that they’re all getting too old for this. Courfeyrac starts a discord dedicated to the show, and kicks it off with an emoji summary of Hadestown. The weekend, though, is for listening to the soundtrack on repeat a hundred times, and learning the songs well enough for the singalong on Monday. They all know it doesn’t have to be perfect, that’s not what a sing-through is for, but that old college competition comes back, and they all want to impress their friends. 

Monday comes, of course. They occupy a rehearsal room in the basement of the Mainline Theatre, and Eponine carries a bluetooth speaker. “We’ve got pre-recorded demo tracks for now,” she says. “Cosette is working with the band separately for the first two weeks; they’ll join us in week three, and then for tech week. Remember, we’re not going for perfect today; we just want to get through it, start to finish. We’ll take our break between acts; I’ve ordered us some lunch today, too.” 

There are enthusiastic cheers at the idea of a provided lunch, and with that, they begin. 

Hadestown is an interesting musical. The themes and motifs dance around each other, coming back again and again. Lines and phrases come back in new and different ways. The staging is usually simple, but the music is complex. Stumbles are inevitable, and they are many, but spirits are high anyway. After their lunch break, Grantaire abandons his seat next to Enjolras, and joins Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta instead. They don’t have much time to be their usual distracted selves; they have small parts in most of the songs, and even when they don’t, they have to be paying attention to make sure they don’t get lost. Grantaire misses an entrance, too busy giggling about something with Joly, and Eponine frowns. Enjolras is frowning harder, but Grantaire doesn’t so much as look at him. He recovers surprisingly well, finds his place, and the sing-through carries on. 

Enjolras is intense as Orpheus. He sings of better days, and how the world could be. Eponine feels as if she is back in school, in those club meetings, where Enjolras would make sweeping statements, and Grantaire would heckle. It’s like that now - Enjolras sings, Grantaire snorts, or mutters something to Joly and Bossuet on either side of him. Enjolras glares, but cannot interrupt rehearsal to yell at him. 

It’s strange, in how familiar it is. Partially, that’s because Eponine knows it shouldn’t be. They’ve always bickered, obviously, but by fourth year, that’s all it had been, really. And they’ve been married for ages now - she’d have thought they were past this sort of thing. She hopes they can manage whatever this is between them well enough to pull off their parts. It’s always risky, casting real life couples, and Eponine has plenty of them in her shows, but she hadn’t been worried until now. 

Rehearsal ends, and she debates what to do. In the end, it’s Grantaire that she pulls aside. 

“Hey,” she says quietly. “You good, R?”

“Of course.” Grantaire smiles that sardonic smile of his and raises an imaginary glass. “Especially now you’re back - we all missed you, you know.” 

“You and Enjolras.. Are you gonna be good?” she presses, not letting him distract her. 

Grantaire’s smile drops. “We’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s - we’re always complicated, aren’t we? But we’re actors, we can do the jobs you’re paying us for.” 

That is a concern. Of course it is. But it’s not the only one. “You’re my friend. Both of you are,” Eponine says. “I know I’ve been away, I have no idea what’s happened between you two between then and now, but I don’t just care because of the show, okay?” 

“Sure,” Grantaire nods. He looks uncomfortable. 

“R!” Enjolras calls for him, and he sighs. 

“I guess I better go,” he says. 

“Sure,” Eponine agrees. “Take care, R. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Grantaire nods again, and goes off to meet Enjolras at the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Rehearsals begin in earnest on Tuesday morning. They start with the very first scene and song from the musical, and Valjean carries it well, despite how early it is in rehearsal. No one is off book yet - they’re not scheduled to be until week two - but it’s fun, doing the call and response. 

“Enjolras, I want you to enter from the front, I think, let’s have you come as if from the audience. Can we try that again?” Eponine calls out, and they reset. Everyone is onstage for this, as Hermes introduces each of the characters. There’s a lot of movement, and it’s slow going as Feuilly puts tape markers on the floor each time they make a decision. It’s staging and choreography in one, almost - no complicated dancing yet, but they have to be careful not to end up walking into one another. 

They run it from the beginning. Valjean as Hermes introduces the fates, and Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta come up with a flourish they do in sync, before twirling towards the back of the stage again. Courfeyrac comes in from the back, next, pretending to hold onto a suitcase as Persephone is named, and he does a wobbly sort of bow. Combeferre remains on a balcony near the back of the stage, and he does a slow wave. 

“Hmm, no wave, I think. Just look down, like you’re surveying them,” Eponine suggests. Combeferre writes it down. 

They continue. Valjean sings the bridge, “It’s a sad song! And we’re gonna sing it anyway.” He dips an invisible microphone, and Grantaire snorts out loud from where he’s hovering at the side of the room, waiting for his cue. 

“Sounds like my marriage,” he remarks. 

No one is meant to be paying attention to him, Eponine suspects, but Enjolras glowers at him from across the room. “Grantaire,” Enjolras snaps. “Save it for home. We’re at work.” 

“We’re with friends,” Grantaire retorts, but he does look like he regrets the attention he’s brought on himself when the rehearsal grinds to a halt, Valjean looking like he’s unsure what he’s meant to be doing. 

“You’re at rehearsal,” Eponine decides to interrupt. She doesn’t need them fighting; it’s day two, for god’s sake. She massages her temples, and says, “Get it together, both of you. Jean, take it from ‘Mr. Hermes, that’s me’.” 

Enjolras and Grantaire glare at each other some more, but they don’t interrupt the rehearsal again. 

The rest of the rehearsal is awkward. No one seems to know what to do with the energy between Grantaire and Enjolras, which is borderline hostile now. It’s not the explosive fights they used to have - this is colder, somehow, and it also seems it’s going to last a lot longer. 

It’s uncomfortable, but they move past it. 

  
  


It’s another day, and another rehearsal. Grantaire thinks back to the day before, and his stupid joke. Enjolras had been angry, and embarrassed, and Grantaire feels a little bad, honestly, because Enjolras is right, for once. They’re here to work, they’re professionals. It’s weird to be doing this show with all their friends, he thinks, because it’s true - this is a job, a professional gig. They’re not just dicking around between rehearsals and classes anymore, they’re supposed to be professionals, doing a real show. It’s hard to feel that way when he looks around the room and it’s all his best friends, though. 

“Right.” 

Grantaire is pulled from his thoughts by Eponine, clapping to get everyone’s attention. 

“Grantaire, Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, and Jean, you’re up for Act One, Scene Two. Jean, let’s have you start stage right; this picks up right from the end of Road to Hell, so make a note that you have to get there. Grantaire, center stage please. Fates, I want you circling close. From the top.” She waves a hand, and they begin. 

It’s a strange song for Grantaire’s state of mind. The musical is almost entirely sung through, so it’s all song, of course, and all strange, but as he dodges the Fates hounding him, and sings about how the world isn’t how it used to be, he can’t help but feel like it’s true off the stage, too. Eponine directs their movements; it’s almost like a dance, the dodging and weaving around the fates, who insist there’s nothing he can do but go where the wind blows, and he’s breathing heavily by the end of it. There’s no time to recover, though, before Enjolras enters from the front, and they’re into the next scene. It’s like a fever dream - until, of course, Eponine calls for them to stop, and gives notes. They run it from the top, and it takes a few tries before they get the chase just right. Grantaire’s singing is a little shaky and he knows it, but he thinks he can be forgiven - it’s the sort of staging that looks simple, but is a lot harder to get right than it seems, and the music isn’t exactly easy either. It’s not until he nearly stumbles with his nose in his sheet music that Eponine tells them all to take five while she rehearses one of Enjolras’ solos. 

“Hey man.” It’s Joly. They’re both standing by the water fountain, little paper cups in hand. “Things seem tense between you and Enjolras,” he observes. 

Grantaire shrugs. “When aren’t things a little tense?”

“..It’s been a while since we’ve hung out,” Joly says after a moment. 

“Sorry,” Grantaire grimaces. “I’ve been.. A little out of it, recently.” 

“Nah, I’m not fishing for an apology, just hoping you’ll come over sometime,” Joly suggests. “We can watch bad science fiction.” 

That’s tempting. And it’ll get him out of the house for a while. “You know what?” Grantaire decides. “That sounds great.” 

“Saturday?” Joly suggests. “That way we can have a drink or two and eat greasy food and have Eponine not murder us.” 

“I’ll be there,” Grantaire promises. 

“And hey, uh. Whatever’s up with you and Enjolras - I hope it works out. I’m here if you wanna talk, yeah?” Joly twists his hands like he does when he’s anxious. 

“Thanks,” Grantaire says, and he finds that he means it. 

Enjolras finishes writing down notes in his script, and Eponine shouts, “R, back here please.” She continues, when he arrives, “Take it from the end of Any Way the Wind Blows, I want to get the transition into Come Home With Me.” 

Grantaire stands center stage, and Enjolras stands outside of the area they’ve marked off as the stage in their rehearsal space. He comes in on his cue, and Jean is ready to deliver his line. 

“Don’t come on too strong.” 

Valjean isn’t the first to tell him that. 

_ Enjolras is 19, in his third year of university, and giving an impassioned, spur-of-the-moment rant during a meeting of the advocacy group he leads on campus. They’re a small group - core members who have been there from the beginning, and a handful of people who come when it suits them. There’s someone new today, he notices. He came in, didn’t say a word, and sat at the back. He hasn’t said a word since, either. Enjolras isn’t sure if he’s taking notes, or what, he’s had a pen to paper since he arrived. Still, it’s the first time they’ve had someone totally new in a while. He wraps up the meeting, and walks up to the new guy.  _

__ _ “What did you think?” he asks, eager for a new opinion.  _

__ _ The new guy looks up, surprised. Enjolras notices that his eyes are a deep brown, and one of his eyebrows is pierced. He blushes a little, and hopes it’s not too obvious.  _

__ _ The new guy gathers himself. He grabs his paper and hides it before Enjolras can see what he was writing. “You come on a little strong,” he says, and Enjolras can’t hide his disappointment.  _

__ _ “My name is Enjolras,” he persists anyway. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but we all feel strongly about-”  _

__ _ “Nah, I get that, trust me,” the new guy says, a crooked smile on his lips. “You feel very strongly. Just - you’ll scare new people away, don’t you think?” _

__ _ “Were you scared off, then?” Enjolras asks, and tries not to be disappointed about it.  _

__ _ The new guy just grins wider. “Oh, absolutely not,” he says. “I’m Grantaire, by the way. You’ll have to tell me your name one more time, or I’ll never say it right. I’m french as they come, and I still think your name is too french to be real.”  _

“Okay, pause for a sec.” 

Enjolras shakes himself back to reality as Eponine cuts in. 

“Enjolras, you get this defensive look on your face when Hermes tells you not to come on too strong. Remember, Orpheus, not Enjolras, yeah? Try again, less defensive.” 

Right. That was a long time ago, Enjolras thinks. He needs to be focused. In the moment. He tries it again, and tries to settle into the role. 

They get a little further this time. 

“Don’t come on too strong,” Valjean says his line. 

“Come home with me,” Enjolras addresses Grantaire, who raises an eyebrow. 

“Who are you?” he asks. 

“The man who’s gonna marry you,” Enjolras says. “I’m Orpheus.” 

Ouch. 

“Is he always like this?” Grantaire asks. 

_ Grantaire is 20, and on his way to the dance studio to get some practice in, when he sees the poster for the advocacy group. It’s atrocious - he half expects to see ‘graphic design is my passion’ in comic sans plastered over it. He almost dismisses it, but the next night, he remembers the meeting, thinks, well, at least it’s in a bar, and goes anyway.  _

__ _ The first thing he notices when he walks in is that Apollo himself stands at the metaphorical pulpit. It hasn’t even begun yet, but Apollo is already speaking, just to a pair of people Grantaire assumes are his friends. The young man is beautiful, though the word isn’t enough. He is radiant. Grantaire averts his eyes and takes a seat in the back of the room.  _

__ _ The man speaks like he really believes in the bullshit he’s saying. Grantaire hasn’t felt an emotion in years, or at least, that’s how it feels to him in that moment, because holy shit, it’s almost easy to be swept along in Apollo’s fervour, in his unwavering optimism and belief.  _

__ _ “Is he always like this?” he asks a guy sitting nearby.  _

__ _ “Oh for sure,” he answers. “You must be new. I’m Bossuet - that’s Enjolras.”  _

__ _ “Grantaire,” Grantaire introduces himself.  _

__ _ Enjolras comes up to him, later, when the meeting ends. Grantaire makes an idiot of himself, as usual, but he knows he’ll be back despite himself. This is the most alive he’s felt in ages.  _

Grantaire has been reading his lines almost on autopilot. They’ve made it through most of the scene; Enjolras is speaking. 

“And all the flowers will bloom.. When you become my wife.” 

Grantaire snorts. “Oh,” he draws it out, “He’s crazy. Why would I become his wife?”

“Because he makes you feel alive,” Hermes answers. 

“Alive,” Grantaire echoes, feeling adrift. “Alive, that’s worth a lot. What else you got?”

  
  
  


They start day three of rehearsals by running everything they’ve done so far, from the beginning through to the end of Wedding Song. It’s easier, the second day, for all of them; the lines flow better, and after all this rehearsal, they all have the words nearly memorized anyway. It means they start finalizing the blocking for the scenes, and some of the choreography, settling on what they really want to do. 

“I’m not totally convinced by Wedding Song yet,” Eponine announces, and they all groan. “Come on, folks, from the top.” 

They get into place. Out of the corner of his eye, Enjolras sees Combeferre and Courfeyrac arrive - they’ll be needed later. 

Grantaire begins the song when Eponine begins the track. “Lover, tell me if you can, who’s gonna buy the wedding bands?”

It’s a simple song, call and response; Eurydice questions Orpheus, who insists that with his song, the world will provide. 

“Lover, tell me if you’re able, who will lay the wedding table?” He demands. 

“Sing the song,” Grantaire demands again later; Eurydice needs proof. 

So Orpheus sings, and a flower blooms, and Eurydice believes, for just a moment, and it’s enough. 

The song ends, Enjolras on one knee in front of Grantaire, and Grantaire is out of breath. 

“Hm,” Eponine shrugs. “Enjolras, a little smoother at the end there. Try it again.” 

“You know,” Courfeyrac says, as they watch Orpheus and Eurydice get engaged several more times on stage. “They remind me of us.” 

“Hm?” Combeferre doesn’t say much, waiting for Courfeyrac to explain. 

“Not the fact that they’re fighting off-stage, or whatever,” Courfeyrac is quick to add. “Just - this. It took us ages to get engaged - we both kept waiting for it to be perfect. In the end, you dropped the ring, and we bumped heads trying to retrieve it.” He laughs. “It was perfect in its own way. Can you believe that was three years ago?”

“Time flies,” Combeferre agrees. He glances at his own engagement band; three years, and they’re still not actually married. 

“Hey, speaking of, I made a pinterest board of some potential flower arrangements,” Courfeyrac says. “Did you see?”

“I’ll be sure to check it out,” Combeferre promises. 

“I’m not sure if we should go for the yellow and pink or the white and pink,” Courfeyrac adds. “If we do the yellow, we’ll have to consider that for the invitations.” 

“Speaking of, I have some fonts for us to look at,” Combeferre adds. He’d never realized how many damn details there are involved in getting married, and they’re both terrible at making decisions. They both want to get this right, and there’s just so much to consider. 

  
  
  


“Alright. Enjolras, Grantaire, we have some choreo to deal with,” Eponine announces at the start of the day. “Everyone else, out for a bit.” 

They both know what that means, of course. There’s only one song that has choreography that would make Eponine kick everyone else out, and it’s definitely on the schedule for today. Grantaire feels the dread already. 

“C’mon, no long faces,” Eponine says. “You’re married, aren’t you, this should be fine.” 

Grantaire stuffs his hands in his pockets. Truthfully, it’s been a while - months - since he and Enjolras have had any kind of sex. He can see his awkwardness reflected on Enjolras’ face, too. 

Eponine takes in the energy, and frowns. “Listen - if this is seriously going to be a problem, you know I won’t push it. We can just be especially interpretive about the interpretive dance break, if you know what I mean. I’m not going to be that asshole who makes everyone uncomfortable.” 

“No,” Enjolras says, and he’s got that stubborn look on his face that says he’s not going to be moved on this. “No, we can handle it. We’re professional actors, after all, and as you say, we’re married. There’s no reason for this to be awkward.” 

Except, of course, for the fact that for six months or so now they’ve been barely talking, let alone touching. It’s been a slow process, so slow that by the time it got this bad it had been happening for what felt like forever. It’s easy to blame Enjolras, and even easier to blame himself. 

The choreography is awkward. This sort of choreo is always awkward, of course, but usually Grantaire pushes past it, until he can find it funny. Still, they make it work. Enjolras takes Grantaire in his arms. They dance, and they perform the hell out of it. Grantaire straddles Enjolras’ lap and lets his head fall back, and then they roll gracefully over to fall apart, and Enjolras stands slowly, lip-syncing along to what the lyrics would be as the song continues. A glance at the clock tells Grantaire they’ve been at it for half an hour. 

“Think you can remember the steps?” Eponine asks. 

They both nod. 

“Practice it until it’s not awkward,” she instructs, and then she calls everyone back in to run the scene as a whole. Now that they’ve worked out the choreography, they should be able to do it in the scene without it being completely awful. 

Except, of course, the song only makes it worse. 

“I’ve been alone so long I didn’t know I was lonely,” Grantaire sings the beginning of the song when Eponine hits play on the music. 

__ _ Grantaire has been going to the advocacy group’s meetings for three weeks now. He’s made friends, and it surprises him. Bossuet, the guy he’d spoken to briefly at the first one, introduced him to his girlfriend, Musichetta, and his boyfriend, Joly. The four of them get on like - well, he doesn’t know what, but he does know he’s never had friends like these. He’s had drinking buddies, sure, he’s always had more acquaintances and casual friends than he knows what to do with, but three weeks hanging out with these nerds and he’s made better friends than he’s ever had in his life.  _

__ _ Jehan is there, too, a costumer and a poet, and they get high on weekends, and some weeknights, and they talk about everything. Grantaire tells Jehan that he thinks he’s in love with Enjolras. He tells Jehan that he doesn’t think Enjolras knows he exists except as a distraction and a nuisance. Jehan tells him he’s full of shit, and it’s.. Surprisingly nice.  _

__ _ Grantaire has a depressive episode. Usually he weathers it alone; his friends aren’t the sort to worry if he drops off the grid for a few days. This time, though, it’s only day two and he has a search party on his doorstep. They realize what’s wrong, and Bossuet is sent out for chocolates and bad science fiction, and Grantaire has never felt so loved in his life.  _

“You take me in your arms, and suddenly there’s sunlight all around me,” Grantaire sings. Enjolras comes from behind, wraps his arms around Grantaire. He leans into it, closes his eyes, lets his voice crack. “For a moment, I forget how dark and cold it gets.” 

Enjolras’ arms tighten around him. 

_ It starts with a chance meeting in the library. Grantaire is struggling with his classes; half the time he can hardly motivate himself to get out of bed, let alone practice like he should. He needs to do well on this theory exam, and none of it makes a bit of sense.  _

__ _ Enjolras sits with him for hours.  _

__ _ They start spending more and more time together. They say love can’t cure mental illness, but Grantaire has a reason, now, to try harder. He gets out of bed, he makes the effort.  _

__ _ Enjolras kisses him for the first time. It’s pouring rain and his car broke down. Grantaire can hardly remember what it was like before; he’s caught up in Enjolras. He’s finally happy. He doesn’t want to remember.  _

Enjolras clutches Grantaire to his chest, tucks his face into his neck. “I don’t know how or why, or who I am that I should get to hold you.” 

_ Grantaire is having a bad day. He calls Enjolras, and Enjolras doesn’t hesitate for a moment; he comes running. He holds Grantaire tight, wraps him in a blanket, makes him tea. He holds Grantaire for hours; there’s something meaningless playing on the television. He doesn’t know why he’s the one Grantaire trusts, but he knows there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.  _

They sing together. “Now I wanna hold you, hold you close, I don’t ever wanna have to let you go.” This time it’s Enjolras’ voice that cracks. He knows Grantaire has been pulling away, he just doesn’t understand why. It feels like the harder he holds on, the further Grantaire is from him. 

“Say that you’ll hold me forever, say that the wind won’t change on us,” Grantaire pleads as Eurydice. It hurts, to remember how it was, and to know that it did change. Enjolras replies as Orpheus to make the promise, and Grantaire pulls himself from Enjolras’ arms to rub a tear from his eye, almost angry. It’s not fair, goddammit. 

“Grantaire..” Enjolras reaches for him, and Grantaire pushes past him, fleeing the room. Enjolras and Eponine watch him go. 


	3. Chapter 3

Today, rehearsals are dedicated to choreography. They show some of their blocking to the choreographer, and he gives them dances to learn to fit. Courfeyrac has never had so much fun in his life; Persephone has some of the best dance numbers in the show. He grins his way through the dance break in Way Down Hadestown - it’s ridiculous, it’s campy, it’s over the top, and he fucking loves it. 

The choreographer seems to love him, too, perpetually asking everyone to share Courfeyrac’s energy - except for Combeferre, of course, because he’s meant to be subdued and stiff. 

They choreograph Hades and Persephone’s dance together, too, from Epic III, and Courfeyrac is thrilled when it involves an on-stage kiss for them. He goofs off a little, dips Combeferre, and the choreographer rolls his eyes and tells them to try it again, but Courfeyrac suspects he’s having fun too. 

They also work on Enjolras and Grantaire’s dance from All I’ve Ever Known again. Grantaire carries the bulk of the difficult dance steps, since this sort of dance has always been Enjolras’ weakest spot - he’s an excellent actor, and his singing has been praised by reviewers everywhere, but he’s best in roles where the lead gets to do simpler dance because he’s too busy singing. Grantaire though, he’s a dancer at heart, and by the time the choreographer is done with both of them, it looks natural and impressive, and they’re both confident in the number.

It’s a long, difficult day, and everyone is sore and exhausted at the end of it, but it’s a good feeling - the feeling of a show really starting to come together. 

  
  


“Remember everyone,” Eponine says as they get ready to leave at the end of their first week of rehearsals. “You’re off-book and ready to work with the band on Monday. The crew is going to be working hard all weekend getting the practical effects ready, too, so we should have more props and set to work with.” 

Sure enough, on Monday, their rehearsal room is set up to be a mock version of the stage they’ll perform on. Feuilly stands by a prop table, a clipboard in one hand. Eponine stands in what has been marked off as centre stage. “Right. We’re doing a full run-through today with the band, I want to see where we’re starting,” Eponine announces. “Places for the start of Act One.” 

Everyone shuffles into place. Valjean starts them off, and this time it’s rougher, of course - it’s different to play with a live band than to play with a recording, and some things are a little off, but they get into the swing of it soon enough. They get smoothly all the way through Wedding Song, and then Grantaire sits at one of the bar tables they have on their makeshift stage, now, to watch Enjolras and Valjean sing Epic I. 

“Remember how it used to be their love that made the world go round?” Hermes asks. Hades and Persephone step onto the balcony level, and hold hands, gazing into each other’s eyes. 

Orpheus sings the story.

“Hades was king of the underworld, but he fell in love with a beautiful lady.” 

_ They’re graduating together, Enjolras and Grantaire. Enjolras has such dreams for the future - a school, where anyone can come to learn, where money isn’t the thing that stops them. Enjolras could perform anywhere in the world, and he wants to stay right here and teach instead, and Grantaire loves him, and Grantaire thinks he’s an idiot, and Grantaire thinks he would kill to have Enjolras’ options - there are no companies of renown knocking down his door.  _

_ He’s grateful, too, that Enjolras isn’t going to run off to New York. Grantaire thinks he would follow, but he likes it here. Montreal is home. And he likes the theatre here. His friends are here. Eponine is leaving, and he’s going to miss her horribly. He’s glad Enjolras is staying.  _

_ “Move in with me,” Enjolras says, one day, as they’re finishing up some studying for theory finals. “When we graduate, we can get a place together.”  _

“He took her home to become his queen.” 

_ They do. It’s not much - they don’t have much, and what they do have goes straight into Enjolras’ dream school. A basement apartment in the theatre district, one-bedroom, a bit messy. Home.  _

_ Grantaire goes to audition after audition. Enjolras is cast in a couple of productions, and he turns half of them down; he wants to focus on building his school. Grantaire reminds him they have rent to pay. Grantaire gets a job tending a bar.  _

_ “Marry me,” Enjolras says, and it’s out of nowhere. They’ve been living together for a year. Enjolras has his phone clutched in his hand. Grantaire is arriving home after a long day - he’s got a small role in a local production, and he’s still working at the bar, and he’s sore, but he thinks, at least he’s got a role for once.  _

_ “What?” _

_ “Marry me,” Enjolras repeats. He stands; he reaches for Grantaire.  _

_ Grantaire reaches back.  _

“The lady loved him and the kingdom they shared, but without her above, not one flower would grow. So King Hades agreed that for half of each year she would stay with him there in his world down below. But the other half, she could walk in the sun.” 

_ They get married six months later. They get married in a courthouse, and almost all of their friends are there. They celebrate by hosting a party afterwards in the building Enjolras has managed to get a loan to buy for his school. They’re going to call it Corinthe.  _

“But that was long ago, before we were on this road.” 

The show goes on; through Courfeyrac’s first big entrance as Persephone, and Grantaire and Enjolras’ now routinely awkward dance, all the way to the end of Act One. It’s rough, but the energy is high; it feels like it’s coming together, bit by bit, and with the staging and the band and all the rest, it’s an incredible feeling. They take a break, and come back for Act Two. Grantaire goes with Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta when rehearsal ends; he’s been trying to spend more time with them again. He was an idiot to ever let them go so long without seeing each other, but it’s been hard to feel particularly social lately. 

Enjolras watches Grantaire go, and sighs. “I suppose things aren’t getting much better, then,” Combeferre says, appearing at Enjolras’ shoulder. 

“I just wish he would talk to me,” Enjolras says, frustrated. “We always fought, but we’ve always made up, too. But now, he won’t-” He cuts himself off. He’s not sure how to finish the sentence. 

“Things have only gotten worse since that last one,” Combeferre observes. 

“Yeah,” Enjolras sighs. 

  
  
  


Grantaire doesn’t come home that night. Enjolras tries not to worry. Joly texts him that Grantaire is crashing on their sofa, and it’s good to know he’s safe, but he worries anyway. He thanks Joly, and puts himself to bed. 

The next morning, of course, rehearsals begin again. Grantaire is already there, coffee in one hand, his script in the other. He’s practicing something with Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta - from where he’s standing, Enjolras thinks it’s a particularly dramatic reenactment of Eurydice’s descent to the underworld. He watches Grantaire throw himself to the floor, and smiles a little. If he thinks back, he has to admit it’s been a while since he’s seen Grantaire this animated. 

“Alright,” Eponine arrives. “Enough goofing off; I want to get through the second half of Act One today. Places for ‘Way Down,’ please.” 

Courfeyrac takes his place centre stage, and Combeferre prepares for his entrance from the back. Grantaire plays his interest in Hades and Hadestown subtly. “R, lean in a little when you have your line,” Eponine instructs. Grantaire nods, makes a note. They play the end of the scene again, and move along. “Better,” Eponine says, without stopping the momentum of the scene, waving for them to continue. 

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” Orpheus sings. 

“This is how it is,” Grantaire replies. Now, if that’s not just every argument they’ve ever had in a nutshell, Grantaire thinks to himself as the song continues. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Grantaire asks. 

“I have to finish the song,” Orpheus replies. 

_ “You’re leaving again?” Grantaire asks.  _

_ “I’ve been home all day,” Enjolras says.  _

_ “You’ve been on the phone all day,” Grantaire mutters. “I don’t think I’ve seen you leave that office once.”  _

_ “I have work to do, Grantaire. You know it’s important,” Enjolras says. He sounds disappointed. Something twists in Grantaire’s stomach.  _

_ “Right. Yeah, sure,” he waves Enjolras off.  _

Orpheus crosses the stage, muttering to himself, scribbling on his notepad. Eurydice follows him, arms outstretched, pleading. “We need food. We need firewood. Did you hear me? Orpheus? Orpheus!”

Hermes cuts, in, “A poor boy working on a song.” 

“Okay, finish it.” Grantaire throws his hands up and walks away. 

_ “Hey, Enjolras.”  _

_ “Hey.” Enjolras is absorbed in his laptop. It’s grown dark outside. He doesn’t look up.  _

_ “I made supper,” Grantaire tries. _

_ “Save some for me.”  _

_ “Sure.” Grantaire leaves the room, and shuts the door behind him. He puts a plate in the fridge and eats dinner alone.  _

_ “Enjolras.”  _

_ “Mhm.”  _

_ “I’m going out.”  _

_ “‘Kay.”  _

_ Grantaire nods, and leaves. The next time he plans to go out, he doesn’t bother saying anything. He doesn’t think Enjolras noticed.  _

_ “I’ve got an audition tomorrow,” Grantaire says. Enjolras has joined him for dinner for once.  _

_ “That’s great, R.” He’s looking at his phone. He sounds distracted. _

_ Grantaire sighs, and wraps his arms around himself.  _

Enjolras sings through Epic II. He loves the way he can see the threads being woven, each time he sings a new iteration of the song, for the final one that he’ll sing to Hades in Act Two. He loves how this play is so interwoven, how everything means three things at once, and how it only becomes clear just how much meaning there is at the end, when it’s all come together. Hadestown is a musical and lyrical masterpiece. Enjolras isn’t blind to the flaws, of course - he takes issue with some of the messages. He doesn’t like how Hades is proven right, about activists not following through, when Orpheus turns around. He doesn’t like how cheap it feels, in a way, to have come so far and have it mean so little. But he appreciates the mastery in the show, and he can’t help but love it more, the more he’s a part of it. 

He and Grantaire leave the stage in opposite directions, and make room for Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and the workers of Hadestown. Chant begins. 

Courfeyrac is amazing in the role. He swaggers, waves his bottle around. His voice fills the room, and there isn’t a microphone in sight. 

“Why is it so hot down here? It ain’t right, and it ain’t natural,” Courfeyrac complains. 

“Lover, when you feel that fire, think of it as my desire,” Combeferre argues back. 

Enjolras and Grantaire return to the stage, passing each other in front of the scene with Hades and Persephone. Together, Eurydice and Persephone ask, “is it finished?”

“Not yet,” Hermes is the one to answer. 

Eurydice searches for food and for firewood. “Tryin’ to trust that the song he’s working on is gonna shelter us.” 

_ Grantaire feels alone. It hits him slowly, and all at once. It’s not fair, he knows it’s not - Corinthe is Enjolras’ dream, how can he begrudge him? But it’s taking every penny they have, and Grantaire is pulling double shifts at the bar to keep their fridge stocked. He glances at the bills, and then at Enjolras’ office, where he’s been cooped up all day. He calls his therapist’s office to cancel his appointments for a while; it’s expensive, and he tells himself he’s been doing so much better. He’d needed the help in school, and for a little while afterwards, but he’s been stable and happy. It’s an expense they just can’t afford right now. It’ll be worth it - Enjolras’ business will pick up, and things will get better, and Enjolras will have more time again. _

Persephone sings, “Why is it so bright down here? It ain’t right, and it ain’t natural.” 

Hades replies, “Lover when you see that glare, think of it as my despair.”

It’s tragic, Grantaire thinks. Hades is doing all of this, changing Hadestown, in a misguided attempt to keep Persephone at his side. It’s selfish, of course, because it’s not like Persephone is leaving because she wants to, necessarily - the world can’t have Spring and Summer when she’s gone - but Hades wants to keep her anyway.

_ “I don’t understand why you can’t just be happy for me!” Enjolras is shouting. It’s the one year anniversary of the Corinthe’s grand opening. Enjolras is as busy as ever. _

_ “I am! I want to be! But goddammit, Enjolras, I miss you,” Grantaire shouts back. “I feel like I barely see you anymore!.”  _

_ “It’s not like you’re around either,” Enjolras points out. “I never know where you are!”  _

_ “You never care when I do tell you! And most of the time it’s for you, anyway!”  _

_ “What does that even mean?!” Enjolras demands.  _

_ “I’ve been working twice as many hours trying to keep us afloat,” Grantaire throws his hands up. “I’m fucking exhausted, Enjolras.”  _

_ “I didn’t ask you to do that! We can get by, we always do!” _

“They can’t find the tune,” Orpheus sings as Persephone and Hades fight. 

“He did not see the storm coming on,” Hermes sings, trying and failing to get Orpheus’ attention. 

“I’m trying to believe that the song he’s working on is gonna shelter me,” Eurydice cries, desperate. The fates circle around her, closing in. They steal her bag, they steal her coat. No matter how hard Grantaire tries to hold on, he feels it slipping. “Orpheus!” He cries out for help. No one comes. 

_ “Enjolras!” Grantaire has been pushing himself too hard. He feels the world closing in on him, and it’s like there’s someone standing on his chest. It’s hard to breathe. He’s panicking - it’s been years since this happened. He’s been doing better.  _

_ Enjolras doesn’t hear. Grantaire manages to calm down on his own, gulping in shaky breaths, arms wrapped tight around himself. He thinks about getting up. He should drink some water, he knows. He pulls his blanket over himself and curls up instead. He sleeps for fourteen hours. He’s two hours late for work. He’s fired. He goes home and sleeps the rest of the day away, too.  _

“Every year it’s getting worse.” Persephone sings. “Lover, what have you become? I don’t know you anymore.” 

“Lover, everything I do, I do it for the love of you,” Hades protests.

_ “What do you mean, you lost your job?” Enjolras demands, tugging on his hair. Grantaire can tell it’s getting to him, too, the stress and the pressure.  _

_ “I’ll find another one,” Grantaire mutters. He grabs a beer from the fridge.  _

_ “It’s ten in the morning,” Enjolras says, judgement sharp in his tone.  _

_ “I’ll drink to that,” Grantaire toasts, sarcastic.  _

_ “What the hell is going on with you, R?” Enjolras is frustrated. “You’re drinking more, you’re always gone, you’re miserable when you are around -”  _

_ “Oh, now you notice,” Grantaire mutters.  _

_ “I’m doing this for you!” Enjolras shouts. “All of it - Corinthe, the school, the community work - you always used to talk about how much you love this city, and the people, and I’m trying to give back, to make this community better, to carve out a space for people like -”  _

_ “-People like me?” Grantaire cuts in, voice icy. “Is that what you were going to say, Enjolras? People like me? What does that mean, then? Poor people? Kids from the wrong side of town? You and your fucking saviour complex, I don’t need a fucking school, I just need you! And you might as well be in another country, for all you seem to pay any fucking attention to me. I didn’t ask you to do this for me, don’t pretend it’s for me, you fucking -” He shakes his head. “Whatever.” He walks out.  _

Chant ends. Grantaire is out of breath - they all are. It’s not time for a break yet, though. They transition right into Songbird, and Grantaire is glad, at least, that he has no reason to relate to Eurydice’s temptation by Hades. Whatever else has gone wrong between them, at least he’s been faithful. He knows this is a play about an ancient greek myth, knows it doesn’t hold the same weight, he doesn’t blame her, how can he? Hell, he gets it. 

The Fates circle. “Life ain’t easy,” Musichetta sings. 

“Life ain’t fair,” Bossuet adds. 

“A girl’s gotta fight for her rightful share,” Joly and Musichetta say together. 

Grantaire closes his eyes, fist tight around the prop bag of coins that serve as his ticket to Hades. 

“Help yourself.” 

“To hell with the rest.” 

“Even those who love you best.” 

The thing is, Grantaire doesn’t doubt that Enjolras loves him. Through all of it, despite all of it, he knows Enjolras loves him. He loves Enjolras too. He sneaks half a glance in Enjolras’ direction. Is it enough? 

“Oh my aching heart,” Grantaire breathes the line, wistful. He knows what Eurydice chooses. He understands it. 

“Aim for the heart.” 

“Shoot to kill.” 

“If you don’t do it, the other one will.” 

Grantaire clutches the coins harder. They rattle in his hand. He’s shaking. He’s not Eurydice; he’s not dying, cold and hungry in a storm. But.. he doesn’t feel alive anymore, not the way he used to, when Enjolras looked at him like the world could be theirs, when he still believed it. 

“Orpheus,” he sings. It’s soft. “My heart is yours, always was, and always will be. It’s my gut I can’t ignore.” He looks down at the bag of coins in his hand.

“I’m already gone.” 

Eurydice disappears into the underworld, the coins spilled on the stage at Grantaire’s feet. 

“Right, well done,” Eponine says, and the moment breaks. The room fills with chatter. “We still have a few scenes to get through today, but I think this is a good time for a break. Drink some water, have a snack, be back and ready to go in half an hour.” 

Grantaire is quick to leave the stage. He finds a quiet corner, alone, and empties his water bottle, splashes the last drops on his face. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself. He loves this show, he really does, it’s one of his favourites of all time, but he needs to get out of his own goddamn head and focus on the role he’s playing. 

“Here.” It’s Combeferre. He’s carrying an extra bottle of water, and holding it out to Grantaire. 

“How’d you find me?” he asks, accepting the bottle. 

“Wasn’t too hard,” Combeferre says. 

They stand in silence for a little while. 

“So,” Combeferre says eventually. “Eurydice, huh?”

“Mhmm,” Grantaire says slowly. “It’s a hell of a story. It’s like - she’s making all the wrong choices, but there’s no right choice to make, you know?”

Combeferre nods. He’s doing that thing that all of them dread, the one where he just listens, patiently, with that look on his face that makes you actually want to talk to him, even if you don’t want to think about, let alone say out loud, what’s going on in your head. 

“It’s like, she’s been struggling to survive all her life, and she’s used to fending for herself, and then there’s this guy, and he’s promising the world. And she thinks he’s a little crazy, a little naive, and she’s not wrong, it’s a recurring line and everything,” Grantaire says. “Orpheus sees the world the way it could be, and she sees the way that it is, but she chooses him anyway. And it’s stupid, because they both love each other, and it’s just - not enough.” 

“Isn’t it?”

“I mean, it’s obviously not,” Grantaire says. He pushes off of the wall, pacing. “She’s dying. There’s no food, she’s cold, and there are the fates, pushing her and pushing her, and she doesn’t want to go but - hell, what kind of choice is she even being offered? Go to Hadestown willingly, or die of starvation and exposure? It’s the same result in the end, at least this way she can have some agency about it, you know? She can make the choice, except what a bullshit fucking choice.” Grantaire is getting incensed. “And then! The fates are like, ‘oh, you have to look out for yourself,’ and then like three songs later they judge her for abandoning Orpheus!” Grantaire throws his hands up in the air. “There’s no right choice for her. She loves him, but if she stays, she’ll die, and if she goes, she’s the one in the wrong, she’s abandoning him. And he doesn’t even notice! That’s the worst part, she’s fucking dying, and where’s Orpheus, huh? She’s calling his name, and he’s so distracted by his goddamn song…” Grantaire sighs, and falls back against the wall. 

“It’s not easy, that’s certain,” Combeferre says carefully. “He’s doing it for her.” 

“He’s losing her because of it,” Grantaire mutters. 

“Enjolras loves you,” Combeferre says. 

“I know,” Grantaire says quietly. His hands are shaking. “Fuck, you think I don’t? He’s - god. And I love him too. Always have, always will.” 

Combeferre is quiet, patient. Grantaire hates him sometimes. 

That’s a lie. Combeferre is a good friend, and he’s going to be sad to lose him. 

“But.. what if it’s not enough?” Grantaire says eventually, fidgeting with his hands. 

“You feel left out in the cold,” Combeferre says. 

“We’ve been fucked up for months,” Grantaire sighs. “I know you know.” 

“He apologized,” Combeferre points out. “He knows he was out of line.” 

“It’s not just the stupid fight though, is it?” Grantaire shrugs. “He said something shitty, fine, he puts his foot in his own mouth way more than anyone would suspect, I don’t care about that. I mean, I do, obviously, but that’s not even the point, you know? He’s been gone for - god, years, really. I know Corinthe is important to him, is important objectively speaking to a lot of people, but it’s Orpheus’ stupid song all over again, isn’t it? The song is important, it’ll fix the world. But he still manages to lose Eurydice and not even notice.” 

“He’s noticing, R.” 

“He’s not doing anything about it.” Grantaire looks down. “And I can’t ask him to. He’s put everything into Corinthe, he doesn’t understand -” He cuts himself off. “And anyway, he’s proven time and time again that Corinthe comes first.” 

“So you’re leaving?” Combeferre asks. There’s no judgement in his tone, it’s just a question. 

“I’ve had divorce papers in my desk for two months now,” Grantaire admits, defeated. “I can’t bring myself to just do it. But - we’ve lost each other already. I don’t see another option. I can’t keep this up.” 

For the first time, Combeferre actually looks shocked. 

“Please don’t say anything,” Grantaire pleads. “I know you’re his best friend, but he deserves to at least hear it from me.” 

“You’ve made up your mind, then?” Combeferre asks. He looks sad. 

“I.. yeah. I guess I have,” Grantaire says softly. He hates himself so, so much. 

Combeferre has been missing for a bit. They have to go back to rehearsal soon. Courfeyrac goes looking, and when he finds his fiance, Combeferre looks rattled. “Hey,” Courfeyrac frowns. “Are you okay?”

Combeferre puts on a smile, and reaches out to pull Courfeyrac into a kiss. “Yeah,” he says. It’s not incredibly convincing. 

“What’s going on?” Courfeyrac asks. “It’s not - is it about the wedding?” 

“No. God, no,” Combeferre assures him, hugging Courfeyrac tight. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to worry you.” 

Courfeyrac relaxes a little. “What is it, then?”

“I’m sorry,” Combeferre says again. “It’s not my secret to tell. I promised..” 

Courfeyrac frowns. They don’t keep secrets, it’s not their way. Still, he makes the choice to trust him, and nods. “Okay,” he says. “Is there anything I can do?”

Combeferre leans in to press their foreheads together. “Just.. stay here with me for a moment,” Combeferre says. 

Courfeyrac nods, and wraps his arms around Combeferre, and holds him close. 

Rehearsal wraps up. They run Why We Build the Wall a few times, trying to perfect the choreography with the workers in Hades, and then they’re dismissed for the day. Grantaire sits in silence as Enjolras drives them both home, wrapped up in his own thoughts. They get home, and Enjolras watches as Grantaire disappears into the bedroom. He sighs to himself, and settles on the couch with his laptop. He’s been so busy, he worries he’s been neglecting the Corinthe School.

Grantaire stands alone in the bedroom, the thick stack of paper in his hand. He sits heavily on the edge of the bed, feeling like the paper has turned to lead in his hands. It’s heavy, heavier than it has any right to be. He closes his eyes, steels himself, walks into the living room again. Enjolras is, of course, on his laptop. He doesn’t notice Grantaire standing in the doorway; Grantaire clears his throat, and Enjolras doesn’t look up. Grantaire closes his eyes again, grips the papers tighter, and walks up, depositing them wordlessly on the coffee table in front of the couch. “We need to talk,” he says. Enjolras finally looks up. 

  
  
  


Grantaire is drunk. It’s four in the morning, and the bar he’s been propping up finally kicks him out. He stumbles into the street, shields his eyes from the streetlights. “Fuck,” he mutters. The world is spinning. He can still hear a ghost of Enjolras shouting, can still see Enjolras crying every time he closes his eyes. He throws up, and waves down a cab, and has it take him home. Enjolras has gone to bed, it seems. Grantaire sets an alarm for 6am, and knows he’s going to be miserable in the morning. Whatever - lack of sleep and a hangover are the most minor things that will be making him miserable in the morning. 

He’s up before Enjolras. He grabs a change of clothes and walks to the theatre; the fresh air will do him good. He feels disgusting; luckily the dressing rooms also have showers, and he cleans himself up and dresses. There are bags under his eyes, and he’s pale in the mirror. He resists the urge to shatter it, and leaves the dressing room. He’s the only one there, it’s still not quite seven in the morning. Rehearsals won’t start for a couple hours. He pulls a chair up to a table and puts his head down, hoping to get a little bit of a nap in before people start arriving. 

Of course, there’s no hiding his hangover. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta arrive, and throw the lights on as they do. Grantaire groans; his head feels like it’s going to cave in. 

“Shit, R, you’re here early,” Joly says. “You scared the life out of me. Is Enj here?”

“Voices down,” Grantaire pleads. “Fuck. No, I don’t think so.” 

“Holy shit, you’re hungover as hell,” Bossuet remarks. 

“An astute observation,” Grantaire growls. 

“Thought you were playing Eurydice, babe, not Persephone,” Musichetta says, and she’s joking, but obviously concerned, too. 

“Fuck right on off,” Grantaire mutters, and thinks that they really don’t know the half of it. “Jesus.” 

They don’t push, luckily, and he thinks he has the best friends. He doesn’t know what Enjolras plans to do, but he’s not going to announce anything. They still have this fucking show to get through. The rest of the cast, crew, and band trickle in. Enjolras, for the first time in his life, is nearly late to rehearsal. He also looks rough. Of course, anyone who didn’t know him wouldn't be able to tell - Enjolras’ rough is anyone else’s Monday morning. He has bags under his eyes, and a bigger coffee than usual in one hand, but he’s put-together and seems calm, if tired and stressed. Grantaire looks away - he can’t handle this right now. Or ever.

Eponine is the last to arrive, Gavroche in tow. “Sorry folks, didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Let’s not waste any more time - Courfeyrac, I want to do some detail work on Living it Up.” 

Courfeyrac nods. He gets into place, and Combeferre quietly takes Enjolras aside - they have a moment. “Are you okay?” he asks, as if it’s not a stupid question. 

“Why? Has R said..?” Enjolras looks anxious at the prospect. 

“No,” Combeferre assures him. “You both just look…” He hesitates. 

“We’re fine,” Enjolras says. 

“If you’re not, you can talk to me, you know,” he presses. 

“We have work to do,” Enjolras brushes him off. 

Combeferre sighs to himself. He hates to see his friends falling apart like this. He wonders if Grantaire has gone through with it - he wonders what Enjolras said. He wishes Enjolras would talk to him. 

They begin. Courfeyrac, Valjean and the company take the stage. Courfeyrac plays Perspehone drunk and bitter, and doesn’t make eye contact with Grantaire, who isn’t just playing at it. “Who’s doing the best she can? Persephone, that’s who.” Courfeyrac stands on a table and dances, and it’s over the top but it fits. Eponine seems pleased, at any rate.

“Let the poet bless this round,” Valjean raises an empty wine glass, and Enjolras takes the stage, stands on a table, raises a glass. 

“To the patroness of all of this, Persephone, who has finally returned to us with wine enough to share, asking nothing in return except that we should live and learn to live as brothers in this life, and to trust she will provide. And if no one takes too much, there will always be enough. She will always fill our cups.” Enjolras is radiant, giving his toast. This time, though, there is something desperate behind it. Enjolras is struggling. 

“I will,” says Persephone. 

“And we will always raise them up, to the world we dream about, and the one we live in now,” Enjolras says, and his voice finally breaks. He takes a few ragged breaths, the cast and crew looking on with trepidation. 

“You good?” Eponine asks, no judgement in her tone. 

“Yes,” Enjolras says, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. Eponine glances between Enjolras, who is struggling to hold himself together, and Grantaire, who is hungover and slumped over in his seat.

“Both of you, sidebar,” she says. Grantaire sits up, and pushes his chair back. The noise it makes is grating. Enjolras gathers himself and they both follow her to the side. 

“Listen,” Eponine says. “I don’t know what’s going on. But I can tell you’re not actually good.” She’s torn - this is a professional production they’re putting on, and she can’t have her leads falling apart. But she suspects if she doesn’t make them address this thing worsening between them soon, she won’t have a play to put on at all. “Both of you go home, talk it out. Figure out what you need to do to get through this production. Okay?”

They both nod. “And Grantaire? If you ever turn up this hungover to rehearsal again, I will find another Eurydice, got it?”

Grantaire nods, thoroughly chastised. “Sorry, Ep. Won’t happen again,” he mutters. 

“Damn right it won’t. Now get out of here before I change my mind and fire you now.” She feels bad for them, but she knows what they need most is to get their asses kicked back into gear. It’s what’s always worked for them in the past. 

Combeferre watches them go, and he walks up to Eponine. “Hey. Listen, I -” 

“Go,” she says wearily. “Go put those idiots back together, god knows you’re my only hope.” 

“Thanks.” He goes after them, and finds only Enjolras, sitting on the steps of the theatre. “Hey.” 

“‘Ferre.” Enjolras looks up, surprised. His eyes are red, but he’s not currently crying. 

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Combeferre says. He drives; Enjolras isn’t in any shape for it. 

They get back to Enjolras and Grantaire’s home. It’s empty. Combeferre spots papers on the coffee table, and pretends not to. If Enjolras wants to talk, he will. Pushing him now will only hurt. He has to wait for Enjolras to be ready, he knows that. 

“We can’t just skive off of rehearsal,” Enjolras says. He wants to keep himself busy. “Let’s rehearse. Can you read Valjean’s part?” he asks, handing Combeferre part of the script. 

Combeferre raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure..?” he asks, voice carefully neutral. 

“Just read for me,” Enjolras pleads. 

“Okay,” Combeferre says. “Alright.” 

“Mr. Hermes,” Enjolras begins, stubborn to the last. 

“Hey, the big artiste,” Combeferre replies. “Ain’t you working on your masterpiece?” He pauses. “Enjolras, what are you trying to-”

“Where’s Eurydice?” Enjolras persists, glaring. 

“This is stupid, you’re just going to hurt your own-” 

“ _ Where’s Eurydice?” _ Enjolras demands. 

Combeferre sighs. “Brother, what do you care? You’ll find another muse somewhere.” 

“Where is she?” Enjolras demands again. 

“Why do you wanna know?” Combeferre asks. 

“Wherever she is, is where I’ll go,” Enjolras says. It’s desperate, pleading. Combeferre aches for him. 

“And what if I said she’s down below? Six-feet-under-the-ground below. She called your name before she went, but I guess you weren’t listening - Enjolras for god’s sake, I don’t think-” 

“Keep going,” Enjolras insists. 

“Just how far would you go for her?” Combeferre says softly, trying to be gentle. 

“To the end of time. To the end of the earth.” Enjolras’ voice cracks. Combeferre wishes he would just stop. 

He tells Enjolras about the secret way to the Underworld, and asks, “So do you really wanna go?”

“With all my heart.” 

And Enjolras sings. It breaks Combeferre’s heart; he stops trying to fill in the rest of the voices, but they echo around both of their heads anyway, he’s sure, the fates trying to get to Orpheus, trying to make him doubt himself. No doubt echoing Enjolras’ own doubts right now, his own fears, that he’s not enough after all. “Wait for me, I’m coming,” Enjolras cries, and his voice breaks, and he doesn’t finish the song. “Ferre,” he says through sobs. Combeferre walks up and sits with Enjolras on the floor, holding him close. “He’s leaving me. And I don’t know what to do. I love him. I love him so much.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> folks I'm so sorry TT_TT


	4. Chapter 4

“We’re starting with Flowers. Grantaire, glad to see you’re with us today.” 

Grantaire salutes Eponine, and takes his place on the stage. He’s sober, and there’s no trace of a hangover. He slept on the couch again, and his back hurts, and he’s tired, but he’s not about to get fired, no matter what’s going on in his personal life. He doesn’t know what he’d be doing with himself right now if he didn’t have this show to throw himself into. 

It’s a solo for him; he steps onto the stage from where Hades’ office would be, and knows that the spotlight will be focused on him for this. He closes his eyes. “What I wanted was to fall asleep, close my eyes and disappear.” He sways a little, a hand on his chest. “I trembled when he laid me out. You won’t feel a thing, he said, when you go down; nothing’s gonna wake you now.” 

It’s a sad song. Eurydice has signed her life away. He wonders if she felt the way he does now, and thinks of the divorce papers in their living room, the ones he’s already signed, the ones he knows Enjolras hasn’t, not yet. Only he hasn’t slept properly since he went down, as it were. 

“I remember someone, someone by my side. I turned his face to mine, and then I turned away, into the shade. You, the one I left behind, if you ever walk this way, come and find me lying in the bed I made.” He feels a single tear on his face, and he blinks back more. 

“Very good,” Eponine says. She sounds surprised. Grantaire is shaken back into reality. 

“Thanks,” he says, and his voice is rough. He reaches for his water bottle, and takes a deep breath. They run Hey Little Songbird with Combeferre, and then go back and do some other scenes between the pair of them. They break for lunch, and Combeferre leaves the stage without so much as a second glance for Grantaire. Grantaire winces. Most of his friends were technically Enjolras’ first. He’s not surprised that Combeferre is giving him the cold shoulder; he suspects he’ll find himself really properly alone when this is all finished. It hurts, though. He can’t let himself second guess his decision, he knows he’s doing what he has to, but god, it feels like absolute shit. 

He’s standing off to one side, some of the others standing or sitting and chatting as they break. Courfeyrac, either oblivious to the tense atmosphere or willfully ignoring it, practically bounces up. “Boy, those are some vibes between Hades and Eurydice, hmmm?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “ _ I trembled when he laid me out _ ,” that’s a hell of a line,” he grins. “You coming for my man, R?”

Grantaire and Combeferre snort in unison. 

“C’mon, I’m not totally off base,” Courfeyrac protests. “It’s not just that one, y’all  _ just _ did Songbird, too! ‘Always a pity for one so pretty and young?’ ‘I wanna fly down and feed at his hand?’ I mean, come on.” 

“I do think we’re supposed to interpret it at least a little bit that way,” Combeferre says, thoughtful. “But it’s nothing, not really - after all, Persephone doesn’t care. It’s not a love affair, it’s not - no one cares, that Hades seduced Eurydice. It’s a greek play, in the end, I suppose,” he shrugs. 

Courfeyrac agrees. “And anyway, you and Enj are too  _ in love _ , you’d never come for my fiance,” he laughs. 

The tension in the air is as thick as a brick wall. “..Right?” Courfeyrac’s eyes widen. 

“Yes,” Enjolras says firmly. He’s looking directly at Grantaire, not at Courfeyrac at all. “We love each other more than anything else in the world. I married the man I know I can’t live without, and to this day, he means the world to me. He’s the best thing in my life, and I know I sometimes don’t show it the way I should. I know I’m not the best at this, but I love you.” There’s a wild, intense look in his eye. 

Combeferre takes Courfeyrac’s arm and steers him away, to give the troubled couple some space. 

“The fuck..?” Courfeyrac frowns, looking back over his shoulder. “Ferre, do you know what’s doing on with them? That was -” 

“Why would you do that?” Combeferre hisses quietly. “I know you’re not blind, Courfeyrac, you have to know they’re not -” 

“I mean, everyone can tell they’re fighting, but they always fight,” Courfeyrac protests. “It’s just a rough patch, I thought it would be funny -” 

“Clearly not!” Combeferre pushes his glasses up, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Courfeyrac, Grantaire has asked Enjolras for a divorce. Two days ago.” 

“He  _ what? _ ” Courfeyrac raises a hand to his mouth. “Fuck.” 

“I know. I hoped he’d change his mind..” 

“This was happening, and you knew?” Courfeyrac looks betrayed. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“They both asked me not to,” Combeferre pleads with his fiance. “I wanted to-”

“We don’t keep secrets, Combeferre! Especially not something like this!”

“I’m sorry, Courfeyrac,” Combeferre says softly. 

“We can’t let this happen,” Courfeyrac says, stubborn to the end. 

“We can’t interfere,” Combeferre shakes his head. 

“You’re just - fine with this?”

“Of course not! But it’s not up to us, Courf. If they’re not happy -” 

“Enjolras loves Grantaire to death, and I know R loves Enj just the same,” Courfeyrac shakes his head. “It’s not right.” 

“Sometimes love isn’t enough,” Combeferre says gently. “Grantaire seems to have made up his mind.” 

“I can’t believe you’re just giving up,” Courfeyrac shakes his head, angry. 

“We have to let them work this out,” Combeferre says simply. “Enjolras isn’t giving up, and he might still win Grantaire back. Or he might not, but we have to trust them to know what they need.”

“I can’t accept that.” Courfeyrac looks disappointed in Combeferre. It hurts, but he stands by his own decisions. 

“What the fuck was that, Enjolras?” Grantaire demands, one hand covering his own face. 

“The truth,” Enjolras says stubbornly. 

“No. Come on, you can’t just -” 

“I can, because I mean it. Grantaire, I’m sorry if you’ve felt neglected, but we can’t give up. It’s always been you, I love you.” Enjolras reaches out, and Grantaire takes a step back. 

“It’s not that easy, Enjolras.” He shakes his head. 

“It could be!”

“If you really believe that, then you don’t understand why I’m doing this at all. Do you think this is what I want for us?” 

“If you don’t want to go, then stay,” Enjolras pleads. 

Grantaire’s expression is closed off. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he says. 

“I want to keep trying,” Enjolras insists. “I’m going to keep trying.”

“Enjolras…” 

“I want to try,” he repeats. “Please. Give it a shot with me. We can fix this, I know we can.” 

Grantaire walks away. 

  
  
  


Days pass. They rehearse, and Grantaire avoids Enjolras. Everyone can tell something is wrong, and it’s not just them - Courfeyrac has been snippy with Combeferre, too. “I’m never casting real life couples again,” Eponine mutters to herself as she watches the disaster play out on her stage. 

“Enjolras, Grantaire, side bar,” she calls, interrupting their bickering. 

“Grantaire,” she says when they arrive. “You’re playing an angry Eurydice, more off-broadway than the more recent iterations.” She thinks it’s a little unprofessional that these two can’t seem to separate their own lives and just act, but at this point she’ll work with what she’s got. She’s got the feeling, anyway, that this is more than a stupid spat, even if neither of them will fucking talk about it. She hates being the director at a time like this - it’s hard to be their friend, too. “We can work with that, if we want to commit fully to it, and do it intentionally. We can make some small adjustments, bring back some older lyrics, play up her lack of faith. But if we’re going to do that, we need to commit to it now.” 

“There’s a reason it was changed in newer iterations,” Enjolras protests. “Their relationship doesn’t work without faith.” 

“Why should she have faith in him, it makes no sense,” Grantaire points out. “She’s out there trying to keep the both of them alive on her own.” 

“But he does finish the song - it works.” 

“She had to literally die first,” Grantaire scowls. “Faith worked out for the world, sure, but in the end, Orpheus loses faith in her-” 

“-He loses faith in himself!”

“-and all she gets out of faith is dead,” Grantaire says over him. “And you, don’t you start with that, you hate the fucking ending.” 

“I do, but that’s not the point!”

“Boys!” Eponine shouts over them. “Holy fuck, I should have gotten understudies. You two - fight this out on your own time, and get me an answer tomorrow. I swear to god..” She walks away, muttering curses under her breath. 

That night is the first night Enjolras and Grantaire go home together after work. Grantaire has been out late and up early since he asked Enjolras for a divorce, but now they specifically do have to have a real conversation. He’s dreading it. 

The drive home is silent, tense. Enjolras starts to speak a couple of times, but the look on Grantaire’s face stalls him. He walks into their house and turns on some lights as he goes, and then turns to face Grantaire. “Don’t run away from me again,” he pleads. 

“I’m here,” Grantaire says. Against his own better judgement, he thinks to himself. 

“You can’t really want to backpedal so hard on Eurydice as a character,” Enjolras starts, and he knows it’s the wrong thing to say even before Grantaire’s expression darkens. “No, that’s not-” 

“Save it.” He waves Enjolras off. 

“I just don’t - what do they have, if she doesn’t have faith? Why would she have been with him in the first place, if she didn’t have real faith in him? He has nothing else to offer but his dreams, but the way he wants to make the world better for her.” 

“It’s not about what he has to offer. She doesn’t believe, not like he does, but she loves him because of who he is. She’s in love with the man, not the vision he has, and - and she might abandon him, but he abandons her first, chasing that stupid, impossible dream and not even noticing her.” 

“If she had just waited for him-” 

“The song wouldn’t have done shit,” Grantaire points out. “She had to die for his song to work, for his vision to come true. She had to leave him in order for him to really get to accomplish what he wanted to.” 

“It’s meaningless without you,” Enjolras finally cracks and says. “I might be able to do it without you, but I don’t want to.” 

“This isn’t about you,” Grantaire says, and it’s harsh, and it’s untrue. “It’s not about us. This is a play, Enjolras, don't forget that.” 

“Oh, fuck you, this hasn’t been just a play in ages, if it ever was,” Enjolras snaps, frustrated. 

“Whatever.” Grantaire doesn’t want to have this conversation. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. Eurydice and her fucking faith,” he adds in addendum, not wanting Enjolras to mistake what he’s talking about. 

“Don’t just agree because it’s what I want,” Enjolras says quietly. Some of the fight seems to have left him, and he just looks sad and tired. “I want you to want it too.” 

“It’s just a stupid play, Enjolras.” 

  
  
  


“Once more from the top,” Eponine says, and everyone groans. “Hey, don’t yell at me, yell at these two. Grantaire, put your fucking heart into it, come on.” 

They’ve been rehearsing Promises for an hour now. Enjolras comes sweeping in like a hero to Hadestown, and brings everyone to tears, and then they renew their wedding vows and promise to go home. All the promises they both broke, they make them again, but this time they’re real about it - they can’t promise there will always be food and sunshine and comfort, but they don't need that, as long as they have each other. This time the promises are to stay, even if they have nothing else. 

Enjolras is earnest - almost too earnest - and Grantaire is having trouble with it. They run it again, and Grantaire turns to face Enjolras. 

“Orpheus?”

“Yes?” God, it hurts to look at Enjolras like this. 

“You finished it.” 

“Yes! Now what do I do?”

“You take me home with you. Let’s go, let’s go right now!” Grantaire throws himself into Enjolras’ arms, trying for ecstatic and bypassing it entirely, landing squarely in desperation instead. 

“No! You’re happy to see him, and excited to have a life together again; this reads more like you really just want to escape, and he happens to be there,” Eponine says. 

“I’m trying, I’m sorry,” Grantaire says, and he means it, he really does. 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s move on for now,” she says, waving them on to the next scene. “Practice it on your own, please.” 

The next scene they’re supposed to do is another big ensemble one, which technically occurs earlier in the show. It.. isn’t better. Well, they perform it better, but emotionally, Grantaire thinks, they’re in for another rough one. Combeferre looks like he’s dreading it just as much, for once. 

“For fuck’s sake - from the top, please,” Eponine says, and Hades steps onto the stage, tall and severe. 

“Young man, I don’t think we’ve met before,” he sings. “I can tell you don’t belong. Go back to where you came from.” 

“Hades, I know this boy.” Courfeyrac comes onto the stage, reaches for Combeferre’s arm. 

Combeferre shakes him off. “You stay out of this.” 

Courfeyrac winces, but moves on, ever the professional. Eponine allows the scene to continue. It could work in character, anyway, even if she doubts he intended it.

“You hear me, boy?” Combeferre continues, advancing on Enjolras. “You better run.” 

Valjean’s lines are interwoven with Combeferre’s as he narrates from the edge of the stage. “You might say he was naive, but this poor boy raised up his voice with his heart on his sleeve.” 

“Orpheus, you should go,” Grantaire pleads from the sidelines as he watches the workers and Hades advance on Enjolras. He knows what’s coming, and he hates to watch it. He doesn’t have to imagine how Eurydice feels in this moment - afraid, guilty, desperate. She’s done this, Orpheus is about to get hurt because of her, and she can’t go with him. It’s better if he just lets her go. 

“I’m not going back alone,” Enjolras says bravely, not backing down, even as he’s backed into a corner. 

Combeferre laughs cruelly, and he wishes he were less professional right now, because he can only imagine how this hurts everyone on stage right now. “Who the hell do you think you are?” The lines that follow are cutting, cruel. “I can only buy what others sell.” 

Enjolras reels, shocked. 

“Oh, didn’t you know?” He chuckles again, and wants badly to reach out and reassure his best friend. He doesn’t break character. “She signed the deal herself, and now she -” 

“It isn’t true,” Enjolras breathes. He’s thrown back to the moment he saw Grantaire’s signature on the divorce papers, next to the blank space meant for his own. 

“Belongs to me,” Combeferre completes his sentence, and Enjolras has no time to reminisce. Hades steps back, and the workers close in around him. 

“It isn’t true,” he says, desperate, turning to Grantaire, who is kneeling on the stage, out of his reach. He reaches anyway, but Eurydice isn’t reaching back. 

“I did,” he whispers. “I do.” He doesn’t meet Enjolras’ gaze. 

Enjolras lets his heartbreak bleed into his performance. Hades commands everyone watch as the workers teach him a lesson. It’s a big dance number, and it’s one Enjolras has practiced over and over again. He’s proud of how well his students from Corinthe, as the workers, perform. They chase him down, pin him down, beat him. During the dance, in the moments that Enjolras spends with his back to the audience, makeup is subtly applied - shockingly red lipstick stands out on his skin, where Orpheus is bleeding. He stumbles, at the end, tries to get up and keep fighting, but the workers pull him down, and he finally falls to his knees, defeated, head hung low. His hair falls in his face, and he sways, wavering. Trembling. 

He doesn’t look at Grantaire. He cannot - Orpheus cannot. He doesn’t see Eurydice cry, pleading silently with Hades to stop this, unable to stop watching as Orpheus suffers. Grantaire - Grantaire is crying with Eurydice. This isn’t what she wants for Orpheus, he was supposed to stay above, keep working on his song. This isn’t what he wants for Enjolras - Enjolras is supposed to have his friends, and his work, and he is supposed to be okay, to move on. 

Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta circle - the scene isn’t done yet. “Why the struggle?” they ask. “Why the strain?” Grantaire wonders the same thing. He wonders why Enjolras is fighting so damn hard. It’s not like Grantaire thinks he deserves it - he’s the one doing the leaving, after all. 

The fates mock Orpheus. “Nothing changes,” they sing, again and again. Grantaire watches Enjolras. His face is half-hidden, through the way his hair falls, and the way his head is bent, but he’s still acting for the audience, and so Grantaire gets a painful glimpse of the hopelessness on Enjolras’ face. He feels his stomach lurch. It’s funny - he’s been so frustrated with the way Enjolras has to make this harder. He’s been so upset whenever Enjolras starts talking about why they should keep trying, why they can’t just give up. He’s been so sure that he just wants Enjolras to sign the papers and let this be done. But now, faced with the prospect of Enjolras actually giving up… 

He’s a hypocrite. He knows this, he knows it’s not fair. He wants Enjolras to sign. He wants this to stop being so drawn out. He doesn’t want to be the one to put this broken, hopeless look on Enjolras’ face, though. 

They take their lunch break. Grantaire spends it, as usual, with Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta. He always avoids Enjolras, but today he won’t even look in Enjolras’ direction. He can feel Enjolras’ eyes boring holes into his back. He doesn’t turn around. They go back into rehearsals, and Grantaire throws himself into it. He doesn’t want to think about it. If only throwing himself into Eurydice felt like an actual escape from himself. 

  
  
  


“From the top of Act Two, please,” Eponine calls rehearsal to order. It’s another day closer to performance, and everyone is starting to feel the pressure. Eponine herself is holding an impressively - and somewhat alarmingly - large mug of coffee, and she looks exhausted. 

No one else looks much better, of course. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are still tense, but Courfeyrac dances through Our Lady of the Underground with aplomb. Everyone suspects that Courfeyrac will end up stealing the show; every one of his big numbers is stunning, and the role seems made for him in the way that it’s over the top. No one else could pull off the bizarre dancing and Persephone’s flamboyant affectation, the way that Courfeyrac manages to make it seem almost natural, even as it’s impossible to look away. 

They move on to Way Down Hadestown reprise. Grantaire steps onto the stage, looking hesitant. Persephone looks at him from the edge of the stage, leaving Hades’ office, papers signed, and looks sadly on. 

“The deal is signed?” the fates ask him. 

“Yes.” 

“About time,” Bossuet sings. 

“Get on the line,” Musichetta says, gesturing to where the workers have entered the stage, a pantomime of a line of miners. 

“I did what I had to do,” Grantaire says. Didn’t he? He looks at the workers. He reminds himself that Eurydice didn’t really have much of a choice, in the end. He thinks, neither did he. 

He joins the line. He works with them, and tries not to be unnerved when they cannot see or hear him, cannot seem to see or speak themselves. They’re building a wall. He loses his memories, becomes like them. “I have to go,” he says, pulling away from the line, looking lost. 

“Go where?”

“Go back!”

“Oh? And where is that?” the fates mock. 

“What was your name again?” Joly asks, circling. 

“You’ve already forgotten.” 

Grantaire looks around the stage, lost, and down at his hands, and the pickaxe he’s carrying. There’s no pickaxe in his hands, of course, but he hefts the imaginary tool and rejoins the line as the song winds to a close. 

“Not bad,” Eponine says as they finish. “R, a little more feeling in ‘I have to go,’ please. You don’t know where you’re trying to go, but you do know you really, really want to be there. Take it from ‘Keep your head down’, please.” 

Grantaire tries again. “I have to go!” he says, and he lunges forward as he says it, at random. He’s blocked by Bossuet. “Go where?” 

“Go back!” he cries, slamming his hands down on Bossuet’s chest. 

“Oh? And where is that?” Bossuet asks, pushing him back. Grantaire lets himself spin, disoriented. 

“Better,” Eponine cuts them off. “Good. Let’s move on.” 

They move onto another scene, but that one sticks with Grantaire. He doesn’t want to go back, he tells himself. It’s frustrating, though. He’d thought it would feel freeing, to finally make the decision, to lose this weight he feels like he’s been dragging behind him for so long, but it’s not. He tells himself it’s just because Enjolras insists on dragging it out, that he’ll feel better when the papers are signed. Part of him is starting to wonder, though, if maybe.. But no. No, there’s no room for doubt now. He’s made his choice, and he’s made it for a reason. 

  
  
  


The dance in Papers is complicated, so it makes sense that they dedicate a fair bit of rehearsal to it. It doesn’t get any easier, though, to watch Enjolras be beaten down, and to watch him give up. This time, they continue through Is it True, though, and just when Grantaire had thought it was bad enough, it gets worse. Enjolras is broken and despairing, and when the workers let go of him, he doesn’t rise. “If it’s true what they say,” he sings, and it starts slow and quiet, “If there’s nothing to be done, if it’s true that it’s too late, and the girl I love is gone, if it’s true what they say.” 

He feels Enjolras looking his way, and Grantaire turns his face, unable to face him. He thinks it works for Eurydice, too, and he lets his shoulders shake, on his hands and knees on the floor. 

“Is this the way the world is?” Enjolras asks, and he doesn’t look away from Eurydice. There’s betrayal and heartbreak there. Grantaire doesn’t see it; he can’t. He can’t look. “To be beaten and betrayed and then be told that nothing changes?”

It’s antithetical to everything that is Enjolras, and it’s a turning point for Orpheus - it’s a turning point for both of them. Neither Grantaire nor Eurydice can face up to it, though. “If it’s true what they say, I’ll be on my way.” 

Enjolras and Grantaire have been fighting for days. When they’re not screaming, they’re crying, and when they’re not doing that, they exist in stony silence. Enjolras has been trying so hard, and Grantaire won’t even start. 

Two days ago, they’d been rehearsing a different scene - Word to the Wise. Combeferre had wrestled with the difficult decision, whether or not to let Orpheus and Eurydice go. Whether to cling to his power, and he forever heartless, or to let them go, and let his ironclad hold on Hadestown go with them. 

“Decisions are a difficult thing,” Combeferre had remarked to Grantaire after rehearsal. “Aren’t they?”

Grantaire wants to tell Combeferre to fuck off, but he doesn’t. He thinks he should be applauded for his restraint. “You would know better than any of us,” he says, and he knows it’s a low blow, jabbing at Combeferre’s stalled wedding like that, but he wants to at least have the illusion of having the upper hand for a moment. 

Combeferre frowns at him. “He’s not going to wait for you forever,” he says in the end, blunt. “He’s trying, but he’s tired, Grantaire.” 

“Well - good,” Grantaire blusters, but it fools no one, least of all Combeferre, who has always had the magical ability to see right through his bullshit. 

“Either take him back, or don’t, but if you don’t make your choice soon, it’ll be made for you,” Combeferre says firmly. “No more of this wishy-washy bullshit where you make sad faces at him, and imply you’ll tolerate his efforts. Either meet him halfway or let him stop. You’re many things, but you’re not cruel.” 

And then Combeferre is gone, and Grantaire is left feeling like he’s the one who keeps getting beat up on stage. Combeferre is right, of course. 

And here they are again, of course, and Enjolras.. Enjolras is singing these words directly to Grantaire. Grantaire who, like Eurydice, has betrayed him, and god, Grantaire swears his heart stops when he locks eyes with Enjolras across the stage. He’s rumpled, and somehow he still looks godly. The way Enjolras is looking at him, it’s like he’s asking Grantaire to give him a reason to stay. Grantaire doesn’t know if this is Orpheus and Eurydice, or if it’s just them. Honestly, the lines have been blurred for a while. From the beginning, really, but it’s gotten so messy so quickly. 

Grantaire shakes his head, and looks away, and Enjolras/Orpheus heaves a sigh, and begins to walk away. The workers watch Orpheus. They stop working. They stand, and they look, and they listen. Enjolras pauses, hesitates. He hasn’t left yet. He looks out at the worker. “If it’s true what they say,” he sings, slowly, and then gathering speed, “I’ll be on my way, but who are they to say what the truth is anyway?” He raises a fist, and he’s supposed to be addressing the workers. This song is a call to action, a worker’s revolution song, and god, but it suits Enjolras well. He shines as bright on this stage as he does behind a microphone making speeches. Enjolras is radiant, he is compelling. Grantaire looks up. Eurydice looks at Orpheus for the first time since he left. 

“So I’m askin’ if it’s true,” Enjolras is belting by the time he makes it to this point of the song. “I’m askin’ me and you.” He locks eyes with Grantaire. “I believe our answer matters more than anything they say.” 

“Enjolras, you’re addressing the workers, not Eurydice yet,” Eponine says, but she doesn’t stop them, and Enjolras pulls his gaze back to the workers he’s rallying. Grantaire thinks it’s the first time Enjolras has taken something objectively political and made it about Grantaire, about their relationship, rather than the other way around. 

“I believe if there is still a will, then there is still a way.” Enjolras stands tall, blood on his face, and raises his fist high. “I believe there is a way. I believe in us together, more than anyone alone.” 

To Eponine’s exasperation, he’s singing directly at Grantaire again. The look on his face is fierce; he’s exhausted, and he can barely stand, and he’s still fighting for the person who hurt him worst. 

“I believe that with each other, we are stronger than we know,” he continues. 

“Enjolras!” Eponine shouts. 

Enjolras addresses the rest of the song at the workers. They rise for him, and Grantaire is captivated. He cannot look away. He feels as if he is looking at Enjolras for the first time, like he’s twenty years old and hopelessly in love. This is Enjolras, radiant and impossible and stubborn as all hell, no matter how much the world tries to beat him down. 

Eponine makes them run the end again, of course. Enjolras fixes Grantaire with an intense look that Grantaire can’t quite meet, and this time he does it properly, starting the worker’s revolution he’s always dreamed of off-stage. 

Rehearsal ends for the day. Everyone is tired, including Grantaire. He goes into the bathroom, doesn’t bother locking it, as he’s only planning on splashing some water on his face and waiting for Enjolras to have left so Grantaire can go without looking him in the eye. 

No such luck. The door swings open behind him a few moments later. 

“What do you want from me?” Enjolras asks him. “Do you really, truly want me to sign those papers?”

Grantaire stays facing the mirror. He can see Enjolras’ reflection behind him, but as if he is Perseus, and Enjolras Medusa, it’s easier to look at his reflection than to face him properly. 

“I did give them to you for that reason,” Grantaire says wearily. 

“Say it then. Properly. Tell me to my face that you want me to sign those papers and be done with it,” Enjolras demands. 

Grantaire is silent. 

“Goddammit, Grantaire,” Enjolras says, but he’s not angry - just sad, and tired. So, so tired. 

Grantaire watches Enjolras’ reflection lean against a wall and rub his face. 

“The papers will set you free,” Grantaire quotes the musical. His face twists as he says it. 

“Do you really believe that?” Enjolras asks. It’s hard to hear him, he’s so quiet. Desperate, but not loud, not this time. Enjolras himself looks so small right now. 

Grantaire finally turns. He looks at Enjolras, and finds he cannot answer. He did believe it, for a while. Now… now, he doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t answer. He can’t, not yet. 

Enjolras watches Grantaire leave without an answer. He is still for a moment, a minute, an hour. He doesn’t know. Suddenly, he screams, and slams his fist against the brick wall. It hurts; he shakes his hand out as he crumples to the floor, head on his knees as he sobs. He lets himself break down. 

It’s not fair. It feels like everything is stacked against him - against them. He believes in them - or he wants to. He has, for so long, believed in them, that they are strongest together. And here is is, breaking the moment Grantaire leaves. He supposes it’s only him that’s stronger with Grantaire, in the end. 

He thinks of the song. It’s inevitable, that it comes back to Hadestown. He thinks of Orpheus giving up, and then not. He thinks about how that energy that Orpheus puts into saving everyone in Hadestown, that’s what saves Eurydice, too, except.. It’s not. He fails, he doesn’t save Eurydice. The workers revolt, and Orpheus loses Eurydice. 

He has his phone in his hand. He dials Grantaire’s number. There’s no answer. “This is R, you know what to do.” There’s a beep, and Enjolras takes a deep, ragged breath. 

“Grantaire. You never answered my question. I don’t know -” He pauses. “I love you. I don’t know if you still love me, but - I’m not giving up. I’ve fought all my life, and I know - R, I’m stronger with you. I hope we’re stronger together. I’m sorry, for - for everything. But I won’t give up on us.” 

He hangs up. Grantaire hadn’t given him an answer. If Grantaire really believed all that shit he was saying about papers setting them both free, he would have just said so. He’s never shied away from saying what he believes before, he wouldn’t do it now. Enjolras has to believe it isn’t hopeless. 

He drags himself to his feet, and he walks around Montreal for hours alone. Grantaire doesn’t call. 

  
  
  


There’s a beep as the message winds to an end. Grantaire has been replaying Enjolras’ stupid voicemail for an hour now, alone in their little house. He clicks to save the message instead of replaying it, this time, and puts his phone down. He stares at it for a moment, and then picks it up again, plugs in his ear buds, queues up a song. 

“What I wanted was to fall asleep,” he sings along. “Close my eyes and disappear, like a petal on a stream, like a feather on the air.” He closes his eyes. He’s laying on the floor. It’s shit for his vocal chords, and he probably sounds awful, but it’s not about singing well right now. “Lily white and poppy red, I trembled when he laid me out.” This time, he’s thinking not of Hades, but Enjolras. He thinks of how he feels stripped so damn bare when Enjolras looks at him, how he always has. How it’s always been both thrilling and terrifying. 

“Dreams are sweet, until they’re not.” He wanted this. This is what he asked for. It’s not at all what he expected. “Men are kind, until they aren’t. Flowers bloom, until they rot.” His cynicism is almost a comfort now - he drags it around behind him like a baby clinging to a patchy, worn-out comfort blanket, probably disgusting from use. He doesn’t know how to let it go - doesn’t know if he should. He doesn’t know what he’d be without it. 

“Walking in the sun, I remember someone.” Grantaire clenches his fists, whole body tense. He feels like he’s about to cry, but he feels like a river long run dry. He doesn’t know if he even can anymore. “Someone by my side turned his face to mine, and then I turned away, into the shade.” Enjolras is trying so damn hard to reach him, and he keeps turning away. He keeps walking away - what the fuck is he doing? He doesn’t know what will happen if he takes it back, if he burns the papers and tries, really tries. Maybe Enjolras will go back to the Corinthe school, satisfied to have Grantaire at his side again. Maybe Grantaire will go back to drowning at his side. But maybe.. Maybe they really can fix this. And maybe meeting Enjolras halfway would mean, conversely, putting himself first sometimes, telling Enjolras what he needs, and asking Enjolras to be there, rather than just sucking it up and suffering in silence. After all - Eurydice chased after Orpheus, asked him if he was done his song yet again and again, told him she was cold and hungry, but what if she’d just asked him to help? 

“Come and find me lying in the bed that I made,” the song winds up. Grantaire is no longer singing along. It turns out he can still cry, because in the end - sure, Enjolras says he’ll fight, but can they really come back from this? How? 

Enjolras doesn't come home until the early hours of the morning. Grantaire pretends to be asleep. 


	5. Chapter 5

Combeferre and Courfeyrac are the first to arrive after Eponine, and no one else is due to arrive for a little bit; they’re rehearsing a few specific Hades and Persephone bits for an hour or so this morning. 

“Right, you two. Let’s start with How Long,” Eponine says. 

They take their places. Hades stands over the empty stage, surveying his kingdom, deciding what to do about Orpheus, and Eurydice, and the worker’s revolt he doesn’t even know about yet. 

“What are you afraid of?” Courfeyrac reaches out and takes his arm. 

“What?” Combeferre looks down at him, startled. 

“He’s just a boy in love,” Courfeyrac pleads. 

Combeferre wonders if this is how Enjolras and Grantaire feel, the way the songs seem to be speaking to them directly, them and their situation. “He loves that girl, Hades,” Courfeyrac adds. Combeferre suspects Courfeyrac is talking about more than just Orpheus. 

“Well that’s too bad.” Combeferre wonders what it says about him that it’s Hades’ lines that echo his own words now. 

“He has the kind of love for her that you and I once had.” Courfeyrac tugs on his shirt sleeve again. 

“The girl means nothing to me.” 

“I know, but she means everything to him.” 

Combeferre understands why this upsets Courfeyrac so much, of course he does. They’d always expected Enjolras and Grantaire to outlast the apocalypse. Certainly, he hadn’t expected Grantaire to be the one to try to leave. 

“Let her go,” Courfeyrac pleads with him. Courfeyrac wants him to intervene, wants to intervene himself. Combeferre doesn’t know if he can, in good conscience. 

“Hades my husband, Hades my light, Hades my darkness, if you had heard how he sang tonight you’d pity poor Orpheus,” Courfeyrac persists. “All the sorry won’t fit in his chest.” 

Combeferre knows Enjolras is suffering. He knows Enjolras doesn’t know what to do. Enjolras is his best friend, second only to Courfeyrac in Combeferre’s heart. Not even second, really - equal, but different. 

Hades’ argument isn’t his own. The song offers Combeferre no chance for a rebuttal he actually believes. Orpheus, and Enjolras, would care nothing for the logic of kings, or the laws of the underworld - he just wants Eurydice. But Combeferre’s concern is for both of them in the long run. If Grantaire is trying to run now, who’s to say he won’t do it again? Who’s to say he or Courfeyrac know any better than they do what to do? 

“He sings for the love of a girl,” Courfeyrac pleads. 

They fight. Hades and Persephone fight bitterly about it; about Persephone’s pity, and Hades’ lack thereof. About order, and what it means for them. The scene ends. 

“Good,” Eponine says. She gives them some notes, and they move on. 

Everyone else arrives, and it feels like it has been an eternity and a moment at once. “Combeferre.” Courfeyrac is at his side, a hand on Combeferre’s arm. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” 

Courfeyrac takes them to an unused dressing room. 

“I hate when we fight,” he says when they are alone. 

“Me too,” Combeferre admits. He opens his arms, and Courfeyrac comes in for a hug. 

“I don’t want them to break up, Ferre,” Courfeyrac says softly. “I thought they’d be together forever.” 

“I talked to Grantaire,” Combeferre says. 

Courfeyrac looks him in the eye, like he’s not sure if he wants to know. 

“I told him he had to make a choice, that Enjolras wouldn’t keep fighting forever. That it’s not fair to make him fight forever,” Combeferre says. “I think.. I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know what he’ll do. But I think he’s having second thoughts, and I think you’re right, too - I still believe that we have to let them make their own choices, but.. I think R will regret it, if he lets this continue.”

The relief on Courfeyrac’s face is real, and he presses a kiss to Combeferre’s lips. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

“I love you,” Combeferre says. 

“I love you too. I think we should go with pink and gold,” Courfeyrac says. “For the wedding.” 

“Pink and gold it is,” Combeferre agrees. 

“And the swirly font for the invitations.” 

“That will look lovely,” Combeferre agrees. It just feels good to make a decision - finally. 

“Ferre?” Courfeyrac says, after a moment of silence. 

“Mhm?”

“It hurt. That you hid something so big about our friends from me. I was mad about you not encouraging them to fight, too, but - but that was a big part of it,” Courfeyrac admits. 

“I’m sorry,” Combeferre says, and he means it. “I should have told you.” 

“You should have,” he agrees, with a sniff. 

Combeferre hugs him tight, and Courfeyrac clings to him. They’re going to be alright, Combeferre knows. 

  
  
  


“Once more with feeling,” Eponine says, and everyone shuffles into place to run the Chant reprise once more. 

“Young man, got to hand it to you. Guess you don’t scare easy, do ya?” Combeferre looms over Enjolras, who leads the workers in revolt. “Are you brave or stupid, son? Doesn’t matter which one. It takes more than singin’ songs to keep a woman in your arms,” he sings. 

Enjolras glances at Grantaire. He knows that now - his work, Orpheus’ song, both had been distractions in the end. 

Hades sings, tells him to keep a woman he has to shackle her with riches and wealth. Enjolras looks between Hades and Persephone, and thinks that Hades really, truly believes this - and he doesn’t see how his pursuit of those riches is what’s been driving her away. He blinks, and thinks - was his work a distraction? Or has it been worse than that? Grantaire’s words from that fight so long ago ring in his ears. “ _ I didn’t ask you to do this for me.”  _ Enjolras thinks back even earlier - Grantaire admitted he’d been overworking himself, and Enjolras had told him,  _ “I didn’t ask you to do that.” _ All this time.. both of them doing precisely the wrong thing in the name of keeping them together. 

“La, la la la la la la,” Enjolras sings softly the beginning of Epic III. The worker’s chorus echoes it back to him. 

“King of shadows, king of shades.” 

“Oh, it’s about me?” Hades mocks. 

No, Enjolras thinks. No, it’s not, is it? Or at least, not entirely. It’s about Orpheus and Eurydice, too, and about Enjolras and Grantaire. Maybe that’s the point - it’s a story worth telling because it’s a story that everyone can see themselves in, at least a little. 

He sings the song. He sings about Hades and Persephone falling in love, he sings about Persephone following Hades to the underworld. But this time, he sings, “And I know how it was, because he was like me, a man in love with a woman.” Orpheus is putting himself into his song, and Enjolras - Enjolras has been blurring the lines between his own self and his character for so long, but he’s letting it happen again. “It was like she was someone you’d always known, it was like you were holding the world when you held her, like yours were the arms that the whole world was in, and there were no words for the way that you felt.” 

He thinks Grantaire has been doing this too - he wonders how much Eurydice and Grantaire have influenced each other. “What has become of the heart of that man, now that he has everything?” Enjolras sings, and god, he sees so much now. How did he miss it? He loves Corinthe, with all his heart, but in chasing that, he lost Grantaire. “The more he has, the more he holds, the greater the weight of the world on his shoulders. See how he labours beneath that load, afraid to look up and afraid to let go. He’s grown so afraid that he’ll lose what he owns, but what he doesn’t know..” Enjolras takes a deep breath. “Is that what he’s defending is already gone.” 

He worked so goddamn hard, and Grantaire slipped through his fingers. Enjolras had been too afraid of losing Grantaire that he’d refused to look, and now he was paying for it. “Where is the man with his arms outstretched to the woman he loves with nothing to lose..” He sings the notes, and then - well, and then Hades sings them back. Persephone joins them to sing it once more, and then they dance. Enjolras meets Grantaire’s gaze across the room, and he knows, now. He understands. But he watches Hades and Persephone dance, and he thinks, if they can do it, goddammit, so can we. 

  
  


They don’t have time to talk. Not yet. Eponine pushes them on to the next scene. It’s an earlier one, one they’ve done a few times and not been satisfied with. “Grantaire, remember, real relief,” she says as they cue up the Come Home With Me reprise. “I want you clingy and desperate - you don’t know who you are, but you know him.” 

“Got it,” Grantaire nods. Everyone gets into place. 

Grantaire is on the floor. Enjolras stands over him. He reaches out to help Eurydice up, and when their hands meet, he sings, “Come home with me.” There’s something yearning in Enjolras’ eyes. Something new, too. 

“It’s you,” Grantaire breathes. He takes a stumble forward, and then goes all at once into Enjolras’ arms, letting himself be held. 

“It’s me,” Orpheus agrees. 

“Orpheus.” Eurydice doesn’t know her own name, but she knows this man, and Grantaire thinks he knows how she feels, in the end. He leans back into Enjolras, and Enjolras’ grip on him tightens. 

“Eurydice,” Enjolras replies. 

“I called your name before.” Grantaire sings, and something pained crosses Enjolras’ face. He turns in Enjolras’ arms so they’re facing each other, still clutching each others’ hands.

“I know.” 

“You heard?” Grantaire asks, breathless. He knows the answer, but somehow he hopes now it’ll be different. 

“No,” Enjolras admits. “Mr. Hermes told me so.” Enjolras lets go of Grantaire’s hand to clutch Grantaire’s shoulders. “Whatever happened, I’m to blame,” he says, and Grantaire wonders what the hell kind of revelation Enjolras had during Epic III.

“No,” Grantaire says, and he finds that he means it. He can’t blame Enjolras, not entirely. 

“You called my name,” Enjolras sings, and god, he sounds so repentant. 

“You came,” Grantaire replies - and he did, didn’t he? He had to do something pretty drastic, admittedly, but.. Enjolras is here now. Has been here, while Grantaire has been running away. 

“I can sing us home again,” Enjolras pleads. 

“No, you can’t,” Grantaire looks away. 

“Yes, I can,” Enjolras says, stubborn to the end. 

“No! You don’t understand…” 

“Very good,” Eponine says, and she sounds surprised. The scene comes to a halt. Grantaire doesn’t blame her for her tone - they haven’t exactly been bringing their best lately. “Keep it up, both of you. Everyone, take lunch. We’re starting with His Kiss at one.” 

Everyone disperses, chatting amongst themselves. Enjolras appears at Grantaire’s shoulder, and Grantaire is unsurprised. “Not here,” he says, and he walks with Enjolras to find somewhere more private. Somehow, no one but Combeferre and Courfeyrac know about the divorce, even now, and he’s not sure why or how, but he’d like to keep it that way. 

It isn’t lost on Grantaire that they’re walking single file, Enjolras two steps behind him. “Grantaire,” Enjolras says. Grantaire finally turns and looks. “I’m sorry.” 

“What?” Grantaire frowns. 

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras repeats himself, looking down at his hands. “It’s - I’ve been blind, haven’t I?”

“Enj..” Grantaire doesn’t know what to say. 

“You needed me, and I wasn’t there,” Enjolras persists. He looks up, and meets Grantaire’s gaze. “I was so busy - the Corinthe meant so much to me, and I missed how much it was hurting you.” 

“It’s not the Corinthe that hurt me,” Grantaire says, mouth dry. 

“You’re right.” Enjolras drops his gaze again. “That was me. This is my fault - all of it. I wasn’t paying enough attention.” 

Enjolras is despondent. Grantaire sighs, and looks off to the side. “It’s.. not all your fault,” he says eventually. 

“I should have -” 

“Maybe so,” Grantaire interrupts. “But I could have been clearer, I could have tried harder, to make you listen. I gave up too easily, and then had the nerve to resent you for it.” He’s never been what anyone would call resilient, but that doesn’t make this Enjolras’ fault. They’ve both fucked up. 

“I miss you so much.” Enjolras has tears in his eyes, and Grantaire feels like his heart is being stomped on. 

“I miss you too,” he admits. He’s been missing Enjolras for months and months now, but.. Well, Grantaire has played a part in that, too. 

“I understand if you can’t give me another chance,” Enjolras says. 

Grantaire is silent. 

“I -” Enjolras squeezes his hands into fists. “Giving up isn’t my way. You know that.” 

“I do.” 

“Tell me to go, tell me you’re really through, that it can’t be fixed, and I’ll go,” Enjolras says, and he swallows. 

Grantaire hesitates. Enjolras waits. The seconds drag on. 

“Right,” Enjolras says softly. He sounds defeated. 

“No,” Grantaire says, reaching out for Enjolras, grabbing him by the arm before he can turn to go completely. “Wait.” 

Enjolras slowly turns around to look at Grantaire again. 

  
  
  


“Well, the good news is, he said you can go.” Valjean delivers the line somberly, but Grantaire and Enjolras beam at each other, clinging to one another. 

“He did?” they ask together, the workers echoing them. 

“He did, but there’s bad news though,” Valjean shakes his head. “You can walk, but it won’t be like you planned.” 

“What do you mean?” Enjolras demands. 

“Why not?” Grantaire asks. 

“Well, you won’t be hand in hand,” Hermes says. Enjolras and Grantaire look at each other, wide-eyed. “You won’t be arm in arm, side by side, and all of that. He said you,” he points at Enjolras, “have to walk in front, and she,” he points at Grantaire, “has to walk in back. And if you turn around to make sure she’s coming too, then she goes back to Hadestown, and there ain’t nothing you can do.” 

“But why?” Grantaire asks, gripping Enjolras tight. 

“Divide and conquer’s what it’s called,” Hermes shrugs. 

“It’s a trap,” Enjolras says grimly. 

“It’s a trial,” Hermes corrects him gently. “Do you trust each other? Do you trust yourselves?”

Grantaire and Enjolras exchange a long look. It goes beyond just lines when they say, “We do.” 

The music to Wait For Me starts up. Valjean sings the opening verse. Enjolras and Grantaire, in harmony, echo, “Wait for me.” 

The company sings to Enjolras to show them the way. “Show the way so we believe. We will follow where you lead.” 

Courfeyrac watches them. He looks to Combeferre, touches his arm. “Think they’ll make it?” he asks softly. 

“I don’t know,” Combeferre replies. They watch Enjolras; they watch Grantaire, a step behind, following. 

“Hades, you let them go.” There’s wonder in Courfeyrac’s eyes.

“I let them try,” Combeferre agrees. 

“And how ‘bout you and I?” Courfeyrac asks. 

Combeferre looks at him; reaches out to caress Courfeyrac’s cheek. “It’s time for spring. We’ll try again next fall,” he replies. 

Courfeyrac reaches out to Combeferre, mirroring his caress. “Wait for me?”

“I will.” 

The fates circle around Enjolras. “Who are you? Who do you think you are? Who are you to lead her? Who are you to lead them?” they demand. Enjolras sets his jaw and ignores them; he has to have faith that Grantaire will follow. He has to have faith that he deserves it, that he can do this. Not just this play - all of it. That he can fix it, that he can make it right with Grantaire, that they can be in love again. 

Grantaire has been following silently, but when the chorus sings once more, he joins in. “Wait for me,” he belts, voice rising over all of them. “I hear the walls repeating the falling of our feet, and it sounds like drumming. And we are not alone, I hear the rocks and stones echoing our song. I’m coming,” he sings. He knows Orpheus cannot hear, but he hopes Enjolras does; he hopes Enjolras will be patient with him, will wait for him to catch up. He’s made a promise to try; he can only hope it will be enough. He breaks character, just for a moment. He reaches out to Enjolras, brushes his fingers against his back. 

“Grantaire! He can’t have proof you’re there. Reach out, I think it’s good, but you can’t reach him,” Eponine interrupts. 

“Sorry, Ep,” he calls back. 

“Keep going,” she says, and the music continues. 

They don’t have the lights set up yet, but this is when the lights will go out. A spotlight will land on Enjolras, and the company, and Grantaire, will be only shadows. Orpheus cannot see. 

Enjolras sings the Epic theme, and he is painfully alone. And then the fates circle again. “Doubt comes in,” they whisper at him. “Where is she? Where is she now?”

Orpheus sets his jaw, squares his shoulders, and marches on. “Who am I?” he asks himself. “Where do I think I’m going?”

“Doubt comes in,” the fates whisper. 

“Who am I?” Enjolras sings, and as Orpheus he fights the urge to look around himself. “Why am I all alone?” He hates this song. Orpheus isn’t alone; he just has one task. 

“Doubt comes in,” taunt the fates. 

“Who do I think I am? Who am I to think she would follow me into the cold and dark again?” But she does, he reminds himself. Grantaire is following. Grantaire promised. 

“Orpheus,” Eurydice sings desperately. “Are you listening?” The light would shine on Grantaire now, steps behind Grantaire. “I am right here, and I will be to the end.” 

The light will go out on Grantaire, and Orpheus is alone again. “Who am I? Who am I against him? Why would he let me win? Why would he let her go?” He torments himself with doubt, pulls on his own hair, shakes his head to try to clear his thoughts. 

“Doubt comes in,” he sings with the fates this time. “I used to see the way the world could be, but now the way it is is all I see and where is she?” He cries out the last words; his voice fills the room, and it’s anguished. “Where is she now?”

“Orpheus,” the lights come up on Eurydice again, reaching out to Enjolras but never quite touching him, falling just short. “You are not alone, I am right behind you, and I have been all along. The darkest hour of the darkest night comes right before the-” 

The lights would come up on the whole room now; they will reveal Enjolras on his knees, facing Grantaire, arm outstretched, a look of stricken shock on his face. “It’s you.” 

“It’s me,” Grantaire breathes. “Orpheus..” he sings Enjolras’ name one last time. 

“Eurydice.” 

The lights go out on them, leaving Enjolras backlit, and alone on the stage as Grantaire disappears. 

Or - that’s how it’s supposed to go. This time, Enjolras breaks. He runs up, pulls Grantaire from the circle on the floor that will sink into the stage, taking him back to the underworld. He pulls Grantaire free, and kisses him fiercely. 

Grantaire, shocked, lets him, and after a moment, throws his arms around Enjolras and kisses back. 

“Jesus fuck!” Eponine shouts at them, and they come apart, sheepish. “I swear to god, you two are the fucking worst.” She sighs, runs a hand through her hair. “Jesus fucking christ on a motherfucking cracker. Enjolras, I swear to god- I know you hate the ending, but we literally cannot just rewrite it, otherwise the whole rest of the show is fucked,” she says. 

“It’s a stupid ending,” Enjolras calls back, without letting go of Grantaire, who is breathless. 

“You’re lucky you don’t have an understudy,” she threatens him. “Right, we’re done for today. Everyone go home, and be ready to start bright and early tomorrow. Last rehearsal before tech week, you better be ready to go,” she says. 

Everyone gathers up their things and gets ready. Everyone except Courfeyrac, closely followed by his fiance, who instead head over to where Enjolras and Grantaire are still standing, whispering to each other. 

“Courfeyrac.” Combeferre catches up, and puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Give them a minute,” he says softly. “We can talk to them tomorrow. For now.. I think they have a lot to say to each other.” 

Courfeyrac pouts, but he nods and deflates a little. Combeferre is right, as always. 

  
  
  


Grantaire watches the crew bustle around the set, and bemoans the fact that he and Enjolras have finally made some progress - right before tech week. They’ve barely had a moment, let alone the energy, to talk since. And he’s still scared, of course he is. He has no idea if this thing they’re doing, trying to fix things, if it’ll last beyond this show. “Places for Promises,” Eponine shouts. If they’re all exhausted, she’s by far the worst. The bags under her eyes rival Grantaire’s after a bender. 

Grantaire is nervous. They’ve done this scene a couple times since that disastrous first time, but never quite gotten it right. 

“Last chance, boys, don’t let me down,” Eponine says. 

The lights come up, and Grantaire raises his head as they do, running up to Enjolras. “Orpheus?” He nearly runs right into him.

“Yes?” Enjolras puts on a startled expression, and he catches Grantaire in one arm. They make a half-turn in place. 

“You finished it,” Grantaire beams at him, still in Enjolras’ arms. He reaches out, touches Enjolras’ cheek.

“Yes! Now what do I do?” Enjolras looks lost. 

Grantaire reaches for his hands, clutches them in his own. “You take me home with you! Let’s go, let’s go right now!” He starts towards the left of the stage, pulling Enjolras with him. 

“Okay, let’s go,” Enjolras agrees, bemused. “How?”

“We’ll walk, you know the way,” Grantaire says, as if it’s obvious. As if it’s the easiest thing in the world, trusting Enjolras - Orpheus - to know the way to go from here. 

“It’s a long road,” Enjolras warns. “Back into the cold and dark. Are you sure you wanna go?”

Grantaire pauses, and turns to face Enjolras. “Take me home,” he says, soft and sincere. Eurydice is ready - and he thinks he might be too. 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac stand off to the side, watching. 

“I have no ring for your finger,” Enjolras sings, gripping Grantaire’s hands. “I have no banquet table to lay. I have no bed of feathers. Whatever promises I made, I can’t promise you fair sky above; can’t promise you kind road below. But I’ll walk beside you, love, any way the wind blows.” 

Combeferre watches them. He’s watched Enjolras and Grantaire fall apart, and he’s watching them come back together. He glances at Courfeyrac, who is enraptured with the scene. Courfeyrac sniffles, and Combeferre smiles to himself. 

“What?” Courfeyrac whispers. 

“I love you,” Combeferre whispers back. 

He thinks about their wedding, the one that never seems to get off the ground. They’ve made a few decisions, and stalled on the next dozen; and after that, there are a hundred more things to do. He watches Enjolras go to one knee before Grantaire, and listens to Grantaire sing back, 

“I don’t need gold, don’t need silver. Just bread when I’m hungry, fire when I’m cold. Don’t need a ring for my finger, just a steady hand to hold.” Grantaire takes Enjolras’ hands again. “Don’t promise me fair sky above, don’t promise me kind road below. Just walk beside me, love, any way the wind blows.” 

Courfeyrac is looking at him, he realizes, when he tears his eyes away from the scene below their little balcony. 

“Ferre?” Courfeyrac whispers. 

“Mhm?”

“Marry me.” 

“What?” They’re already engaged. Combeferre is the one who proposed. 

“Marry me. They’re right, listen - we don’t need it to be perfect,” Courfeyrac says. “I don’t need the perfect venue, or the perfect invitations, or the perfect flowers, I just need you. Let’s just get married.” 

“Let’s go,” Combeferre quotes the song they’re listening to with a quirk of his lips. “Let’s go right now.” 

Courfeyrac smacks him lightly in the side. “We’re in the middle of rehearsal, silly, Ep will kill us. But - when we’re done today, we can go, apply for the license.” 

“Yes,” Combeferre agrees. 

Onstage, Enjolras rises to his feet again, still holding Grantaire’s hand. They sing together, “I don’t know where this road will end, but I’ll walk it with you, hand in hand. I can’t promise you fair sky above, can’t promise you kind road below, but I’ll walk beside you, love, any way the wind blows.” 

They fall into each others’ arms. Enjolras asks, “Do you let me walk with you?” He pulls back to see Grantaire’s answer, and somehow they both know he’s not just Orpheus in this moment, but that he’s really, truly asking if Grantaire is sure about this, about him. 

“I do,” Grantaire replies, and he leans in to steal a kiss. It’s not in the script, it’s not in the plan, but Eponine doesn’t stop them. 

“I do,” echoes Enjolras, and then they repeat it once more together. 

“And keep on walking, come what will?” Grantaire asks, and he’s asking Enjolras not to give up, to keep waiting for him. 

“I will,” Enjolras replies, tender. 

“I will,” Grantaire echoes. 

“We will.” 

There’s a moment of silence, voices hanging in the air, and then Eponine claps slowly. “There it is,” she says. “Keep the kiss, I like it. Combeferre, Courfeyrac, your whispering up there is fine as long as the mics don’t pick it up, and as long as it’s sweet nothings and not quarrelling.” And with that, they move on. 

  
  
  


Combeferre and Courfeyrac go to the courthouse. They schedule a date with a clerk, and post their wedding notice on the spot. 

“Three days,” Courfeyrac says. They’re sitting at the waterfront, eating ice cream they bought from a booth on the boardwalk. It’s late in the day, now, the sun setting over the St Lawrence River, casting everything in red and gold. 

“Three days,” Combeferre echoes. He can hardly believe it - and he can hardly wait. 

They call their close families that evening, and invite the cast and crew of Hadestown at rehearsal the next morning. Combeferre’s sister, Hannah, agrees to stand as one witness, and Enjolras hugs them both in congratulations and agrees to be the second. Grantaire offers to arrange for a party afterwards, and they agree, grateful. 

The wedding is short and simple. They both wear suits, and their friends dress up too. Combeferre sheds a tear when Courfeyrac arrives at the courthouse shortly after him, and they hold each other for a long moment. It’s hard to believe this is really, finally happening. 

They go in, hand in hand. The clerk smiles at them both, welcomes the group, and invites everyone but Combeferre and Courfeyrac to sit. 

“Would you like to say your own vows?” the clerk asks. 

“Yes,” Courfeyrac says. He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. “Combeferre, from the moment we met, I knew you were it for me. And then we were oblivious about it for a stupid amount of time.” 

Combeferre makes a watery laugh. 

“I don’t know where this road goes, but I promise to walk it with you, no matter what, hand in hand, and side by side.” 

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre breathes. He can’t believe Courfeyrac is using Hadestown lyrics as his wedding vows, but dammit, it works. “You dork.” 

“Your dork,” Courfeyrac replies softly. “I love you, and I promise to love you forever.” 

With that, Courfeyrac finishes, and Combeferre sniffles. “Well, how am I meant to follow that?” he asks softly. “Courfeyrac, tu es mon coeur. I love you, I have always loved you, and I always will. It would be all I could ever ask for to walk this road with you, and to be the one to hold your hand.” 

Now it’s Courfeyrac’s turn to wipe away a tear. 

“Sign here,” the clerk hands them each a pen, and they sign their paperwork. 

“I now pronounce you husbands. You may kiss.” 

And they do. 

Grantaire has apparently managed to make a reservation for a very large party at Le Date, a gay karaoke bar in the village. They all pour inside, and luckily on a Thursday afternoon it’s not too busy. They order appetizers and drinks, and soon have the tables rearranged to make the dance floor bigger. The employees tolerate this with considerable grace, since they also make a point of tipping very, very well, and they’re a big party, ordering a lot of food and drink. 

Of course, a dozen professional singers in a karaoke bar is always a sight to see. Courfeyrac and Combeferre dance their first dance as husbands to a rousing rendition of Oh Mon Amour, sung by Musichetta, with Joly and Bossuet providing harmonies, and receive a standing ovation. 

Grantaire drags Enjolras up for a particularly over dramatic performance of Take Me or Leave Me - Grantaire expects to fluster Enjolras, but Enjolras is shameless, and Grantaire is left red in the face and struggling to remember to breathe, much to everyone’s entertainment. 

It’s fun - Courfeyrac has to admit it was a good idea to leave the party to Grantaire. However, three drinks in, he loses track of his brand new husband, and finds him a few minutes later, deep in debate with Enjolras. 

“I just think Hades is portrayed awfully sympathetically for a raging capitalist-” Enjolras is saying. Grantaire is grinning wide, and Combeferre’s brow is furrowed. 

“Ferre,” Courfeyrac whines, planting himself in the seat beside him. 

Combeferre presses a kiss to the top of Courfeyrac’s head, and picks up his argument with Enjolras again. “I think it’s interesting that it chooses not to have a completely black and white take,” he says. “Hades’ business practices are condemned, but he as a person is complex, and misguided, and lonely, and insecure. It doesn’t make him right.” 

“But he is right, in the end,” Enjolras protests. “He says activists are strong before a crowd, but take that away and they’ll falter, and the play proves him right, in the end - Orpheus isn’t strong enough.” 

“Babe,” Courfeyrac leans against Combeferre, and tries to steal a kiss. “It’s my wedding.” 

“Just a moment.” Combeferre kisses Courfeyrac, and then they’re back at it. Grantaire joins in, too, arguing whichever side he wants and switching it up apparently just to aggravate Enjolras. 

“That’s enough,” Courfeyrac says eventually. He stands. “You’re both right - except for you, Grantaire, you’re just a little shit - and now I demand that you come and sing a song with me, husband dearest.” 

Combeferre smiles, sheepish. “Sorry, mon coeur,” he murmurs. He kisses Courfeyrac again, and they go to the microphone. 

Enjolras and Grantaire are left alone at their table again. Grantaire hesitates, unsure of what to say or do now. Enjolras decides for them both - he leans in, and steals a kiss of his own. “You are utterly impossible,” he murmurs.

“You married me,” Grantaire says, a little dazed. 

“I did. And I’d do it again, no hesitation,” Enjolras says. 

Grantaire blushes. He still doesn’t know how to take this version of Enjolras, who is apparently channeling all of his intensity usually reserved for righting the wrongs of the world onto Grantaire himself. “Yeah, well.” He mumbles something incomprehensible, and Enjolras shakes his head at Grantaire. 

“Come and dance,” Enjolras requests. And, well, who is Grantaire to tell him no? He takes Enjolras’ hand, and they dance. 


	6. Chapter 6

“Careful, Bossuet,” Eponine frets as Bossuet trips over a stray cord, trips, and nearly shorts out every light in the theatre. It’s Friday, it’s dress rehearsal, and everything that could possibly go wrong, does. Bossuet has already nearly given himself a black eye once, the rotating stage pieces jammed on the hem of Courfeyrac’s dress, and a string snapped on the guitar, so the new one naturally won’t stay in tune. They’ve all flubbed lines, missed entrances - it’s been an unholy wreck. 

Still, they make it to the end, frazzled and worn and exhausted and stressed, and Eponine nods once. “Well, they say the worse the dress rehearsal goes, the better opening will be,” she announces as she flops into her chair. “Which means we’re going to have the best opening night the world has ever seen, and take the theatre world by storm.” 

“We’ll get it right,” Enjolras promises, his jaw set in that stubborn way of his. 

“I know,” Eponine says. “You’ve all worked really hard, and I’m proud of all of you. Go home, get some rest, take it easy. I want you all backstage, in costume and makeup tomorrow by 6pm, no excuses. For today, we’re done.” 

Everyone goes home. There’s no social plans, not tonight - everyone knows how important it is to rest before the big day. Combeferre and Courfeyrac go home, and start planning a honeymoon. They can’t take it until after the ten week run of Hadestown is done, of course, but they can wait. Courfeyrac climbs into Combeferre’s lap after a few minutes of looking up bed and breakfasts, and manages to derail their efforts for the time being anyway. 

Enjolras and Grantaire also go home. They walk hand in hand through their front door. Things aren’t fixed, they aren’t perfect, but they’ve both agreed to try harder. They’ve agreed to start counselling together, in order to help them communicate, and they’re both going to dedicate time to just being together - one evening, every week, where it’s just the two of them spending time together. 

There’s a pile of ash that still hasn’t been cleaned up on the coffee table in the living room. The night after Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s wedding, they’d had a glass of wine at home, and burned the divorce papers. Grantaire had suggested it, and expected Enjolras to complain about fire safety, but Enjolras had just kissed him. 

It took them some time before they actually got around to burning the papers, that evening, but they did. 

“I love you,” Enjolras says. He says it often now. 

“I love you too.” Words aren’t everything, and they certainly aren’t enough on their own, but words are a start, and Grantaire likes to hear it - needs to hear it. 

And then it’s opening night. The theatre is packed with critics and casual theatre-goers alike. They’ve been getting all sorts of media attention from their promotional clips alone; Cosette’s girlfriend, Maria, had filmed some of their rehearsals, and helped put together media packages for them. Their casting has been controversial, drawing praise and criticism alike. Eponine isn’t surprised - she’s essentially written out the two main women in the show and replaced them with men, and while she enjoys the way it fucks with gender, since she hasn’t changed the pronouns or gender presentation of the characters, she knows it’s also a choice she’s going to have to make up for with an all-female cast of something in the near future. She’s thinking of doing a lesbian version of Phantom next - Cosette had invited her over to watch an apparently lesbian Phantom from Japan a little while ago, and it had served as perfect inspiration. 

Most of their attention - the attention that isn’t either calling it a slur or misogynistic - is positive, though. People are eager to see it, and they’re sold out for their first three weeks already. 

When it’s nearly showtime, Eponine gets on the stage, and taps the mic. “Hello, bonjour, bienvenue,” she greets the audience, and then continues in french. “We’re very excited to be putting on this show. I know it’s dear to my heart, and it’s changed the lives of many people in the cast and crew. I hope that you all love it as much as we do. Please take this as your reminder now to also turn off your cell phones; I promise at least three cast members will roast you mid-song if your phone goes off, and trust me, none of you want to be that person.”

There’s some polite laughter. “Well, without further ado, I am so very pleased to welcome you to Hadestown.” Eponine leaves the stage, and the lights go down. A few moments later, they come up again, and the show begins. 

The critics will all say afterwards that opening night was breathtaking. “I was mesmerized,” one will write. “I couldn’t look away; the on-stage chemistry was some of the best I’d ever seen. It was like seeing the characters come to life. The conflicts felt as genuine and emotional as the resolution.” Another says, “You know the ending to Hadestown before you go, even if you’ve never read so much as a synopsis; it’s based on such a famous story. Even so, it’s played with such heart that when the end finally comes, you realize you’ve almost convinced yourself that maybe, just maybe, this time it will be different.” 

Courfeyrac, of course, sees all the praise they expected. His career is well established, but people still call it a breakout role for him. “He puts in a technically impressive performance and pulls it off with such aplomb as to make it look easy.” Courfeyrac reads the review aloud backstage, and everyone teases him to keep his ego in check. “He steals every scene he’s in, and it’s impossible to look away.” 

Grantaire, though, receives nearly as much attention. “Relatively unknown,” one review reads, “Rene Grantaire delivers the performance of a lifetime. His Eurydice is raw, emotional, and personal. I am certain that, like me, all of Montreal - and all of Canada - will be looking eagerly to see what he does next.” 

As their ten weeks come nearer to ending, Grantaire finds that, for the first time, he has no shortage of options. There are producers and directors calling him, trying to sway him to their productions, and it’s as overwhelming and terrifying as it is exciting. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire replies by kissing him and setting his phone aside for a while to be distracted by something (someone) else for a while. In the end, he accepts a lead in some new indie production. 

Hadestown, of course, cannot last forever. Their final show is bittersweet; many of them are excited to do something new, but it’s been such a journey, doing this together. “Hey, no crying,” Courfeyrac says, tears streaming down his own face after their last curtain call. “Cast party. My and Combeferre’s place. Don’t any of you dare be late.” 

There are hugs, and laughter, and then, of course, they congregate at Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s home. There is punch, mixed so strong even Eponine makes a face in shock, and beer pong, and Bossuet makes a joke about being back in college. They get drunk, and sing their favourite songs once more, and dance. 

Enjolras is sitting on their couch, four drinks in and absolutely plastered. He is hugging a pillow and crying. Grantaire drops into the seat next to him. “Baby, baby, it’s okay,” he says, unsure what’s even wrong. 

“It’s so - so stupid,” Enjolras pouts through his tears. 

“Wha..?”

“Orpheus! It’s so stupid! They - they could have been together forever..” Enjolras sobs, and Grantaire’s eyes widen. 

“Oh. Oh, jeez, angel. Hey - hey, look, mon ange, it’s okay,” he murmurs, hugging Enjolras tight and comforting him. 

“All he had to do was have faith. He was so close, he had one job, they could have been  _ happy _ .” Enjolras leans in and clings to Grantaire, who pets Enjolras’ hair. 

“They are together forever in the end,” he murmurs. “It loops, it starts all over. And hey - that’s the point, you know? It’s a sad song, but you sing it anyway, because maybe, just maybe, one of these times they’ll get it right. We’re like Orpheus, hm? Seeing the world the way it could be.” 

“It’s a sad song,” Enjolras says, and cuddles closer to Grantaire. “Never leave me.” 

“I swear I won’t,” Grantaire says softly. “That’s one promise I know I can keep.”


End file.
